


scattered fragments of time (that's all we are)

by fonulyn



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feels, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Temporary Amnesia, only a little smut tho in the last chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-15 01:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19599937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn
Summary: Waking up has never been this difficult in his life, Chris thinks distantly as he forces his eyes open, flinching against the bright lights. There’s a distant sound of a voice, and he can barely make out the words at first, even though it all gets clearer with every passing syllable. “Oh, Chris, you’re awake!” There’s a hand on his shoulder, gently stopping him as he struggles to sit up, and he doesn’t really have the energy to fight it so he complies.When he groans there’s immediately a worried face in front of him, and he squints a little as he attempts to recognize them. “Claire?” It comes out a guess, more than anything. The person in front of him is Claire, he’s sure of it, but she’s… so old.-Or the one wherein Chris forgets the past fifteen years of his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to formally apologize to any and all medical professionals because i don't think my fix for amnesia is entirely legit. then again, i did read some accounts on the topic and so i think this should be at least plausible. hopefully lmao. i... was gonna say that this is really self-indulgent and i do what i want, but then i realized that 90% of what i write is self-indulgent so... 
> 
> i hope you'll like it?
> 
> also huge gigantic thanks to Soph and Tatsueli for being so encouraging and supportive, i couldn't have done this without you ❤

Waking up has never been this difficult in his life, Chris thinks distantly as he forces his eyes open, flinching against the bright lights. There’s a distant sound of a voice, and he can barely make out the words at first, even though it all gets clearer with every passing syllable. “Oh, Chris, you’re awake!” There’s a hand on his shoulder, gently stopping him as he struggles to sit up, and he doesn’t really have the energy to fight it so he complies. 

“You gave us quite a scare. You were out for a while.” The voice, somehow familiar, goes on, and the bed dips next to Chris as someone obviously sits down beside him. Chris only blinks, as if that’d somehow make his head clearer and force his brain to catch up. He’s distantly aware of an ache, but apparently he’s on such good drugs that most of it doesn’t even register. 

When he groans there’s immediately a worried face in front of him, and he squints a little as he attempts to recognize them. “Claire?” It comes out a guess, more than anything. The person in front of him is Claire, he’s sure of it, but she’s… so old. 

Well, not old in the actual sense of the word as she’s probably in her late thirties to early forties. But the last memory Chris has of her is as a baby-faced twenty-year-old, and his brain doesn’t manage to patch up the black hole that sits in between. “What’s going on?” he asks, frowning, and he really tries but the fuzz inside his head doesn’t clear and he can’t focus enough to think if he’s being rude or not. “Why do you– I mean, what. How old are you?”

Claire’s expression would be priceless in any other moment. Now it just confuses Chris further. And before she manages to answer the door opens and closes again, a man entering with two takeout cups of coffee. “Next time it’s your turn to wa–” It is then that he spots Chris sitting up, and his words stop as if cut with a knife, his jaw dropping slightly. “Chris? Thank _god_ you’re awake!”

There’s something about him that Chris finds… familiar, but he can’t really say what. He looks tired and worried, but it’s mixed with relief and something that Chris can’t really place. Not to mention that he’s extremely unfairly attractive, too. Chris almost says that out loud as the man hurries to approach, but he’s cut off by Claire.

“Wait,” she says quickly, holding out a hand that makes the man stop in his tracks and frown at her. He seems to trust her, though, and just stands there with the coffees still in his hands. 

Chris’ attention is drawn from him when Claire grabs a hold of his wrist and looks straight at him intently. “Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t know,” Chris shrugs a little, wincing as it doesn’t really feel that good. His head is still so slow. Why the hell is the pretty man just frowning at him? He sighs, closes his eyes for a second, and only because it’s Claire, who he can tell anything, he admits. “You look a lot older than you should. It’s like you’re almost forty.”

Claire pinches her mouth into a thin line. “How old am I supposed to be?” 

“Twenty-” Chris begins, and then makes a real effort to get it right before finishing, “one. Two next week.”

The words don’t make either one of his companions in the room look any less worried. Chris frowns. What the hell is going on? The two look so out of it that Chris already gets defensive, and he tries to explain. “Yeah. Twenty-one. We were going to throw you a big party next Thursday? And you said…” he fights to remember, “that you’d invite some friends you wanted me to meet?”

“Twenty-one?” Claire repeats slowly. “And a birthday party?”

“Yes!” Chris bursts out, frustrated. Ow, his head. “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on in here?” He’s so angry – not at anyone else but at his own helplessness, at the confusion and the feeling that he’s not being told everything. So without thinking about it any further he snaps. “What am I doing here? And who is _he_? Your new boyfriend? The one you couldn’t stop gushing about?”

At that, the man actually recoils. He looks so hurt that immediately Chris wants to apologize, to tell him that he’s sorry he doesn’t remember him, and that he’s sure that he’s a good guy and makes Claire very happy. He’s distracted by the way the coffee cup in the man’s right hand bursts at the seam between the cup and the lid from being squeezed too tight, and it gets everyone’s attention for a moment. “Shit,” the man all but breathes out, no real heat behind it. 

Claire sighs. “Chris, you can’t be serious… No, he’s not _my_ –” 

“Claire, a word. Outside. Now.” The man interrupts her, wiping some of the coffee off his fingers on his jeans. Somehow the all-business tone of his voice makes him even more attractive. As if he needed any help in that department, he’s quite possibly the most gorgeous man Chris has ever seen in his entire life. 

The two have an argument with their eyebrows and frowns alone, which makes Chris think that the guy probably is Claire’s boyfriend, no matter what she says, as they seem to be so familiar with each other. The exchange ends in Claire giving up, and she pats Chris’ thigh as she stands up. “We’ll be back in a minute, okay. Hang in there.”

Chris nods dumbly. He shifts a little, immediately regretting it, and as he’s alone he lets his eyes fall shut again and tries to focus on his own even breaths. Maybe that’d make all of this more real. He doesn’t get a lot of rest, though, because he can hear the raised voices behind the door in the corridor. He can’t make out what they’re arguing about, but eventually it stops as quickly as it had started. 

The two come back into the room after a while. They both look resigned, more than anything. The man hangs back again, leaning against the wall next to the door, while Claire takes the same seat on the edge of Chris’ bed that she’d occupied earlier. “There’s no way for me to tell this any easier,” she begins, her voice calm and soothing, as if she’s afraid she’ll spook him. She takes a deep breath. “I’m thirty-seven. So if the last thing you remember is that birthday party? You’re missing fifteen years there.”

“ _Fifteen_?” Chris croaks out. Unbelievable. “This isn’t some sick joke, right?”

“No,” Claire sighs. “It’s not. I wouldn’t do that to you, you know that.” She nods a little towards the man, who hasn’t moved an inch, just keeps staring at Chris with a strange air of melancholy about him, his gaze intense and unwavering. “You met Leon here at the very party you remember we were planning.” She smiles a little. “You’re …really good friends.”

Chris looks at Leon, studies him for real now. Tries to make his brain work, wills himself to remember at least _something_. He draws empty, though. Apologetically he shrugs a little, aiming for a smile although it kind of turns into an embarrassed grimace. “I’m sorry, man. I’ve got nothing.”

“It’s fine,” Leon says and makes a valiant attempt at a smile. “It’s not your fault.”

“I mean,” Chris goes on, grasping at straws. He does know now, kind of, who Leon is. The name is familiar and although his brain is foggy and slow and unfocused, he manages to place it in the context of Claire’s life. At least what he remembers of it. “I know who you are. You were with Claire in Raccoon city, right? She’s talked a lot about you. But I have no memory of ever actually meeting you.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Leon insists, but everything from the tone of his voice to the broken look in his eyes tells Chris, clear as day, that it’s everything but okay. And he wants to make it better, he really does, but he can’t lie and say he remembers when clearly he _doesn’t_ , and he’d just end up making everything worse by lying. He’s still trying to figure out what to do, when Leon interrupts his train of thought. “I should… go.”

Claire opens her mouth but Leon shuts her up with a glare, and then turns to smile at Chris softly. “I’m really glad that you’re awake. I’ll come by tomorrow, if that’s okay with you?”

Dumbly, Chris nods. “Yeah, sure.”

For a second Leon still lingers, as if he doesn’t really want to leave, but then he’s gone, and for some reason Chris already wishes he would’ve stayed. He doesn’t understand. Maybe some part of his brain does remember their friendship, even if he doesn’t have any actual memories of it. “This sucks,” he frowns. “I mean, you say we’re really good friends but I can’t even remember him?”

Claire looks damn near devastated. “Maybe your memory will come back, soon,” she says, trying her hardest to remain positive, “and if not, you’ll just get to …learn to know him all over again.” There’s something odd in the tone of her voice, but then she forces herself to sound more like her usual self. “And me! You don’t remember half of my life, don’t even think you’ll get away with _that_.”

At that, Chris can’t help but chuckle. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

*

Claire stays until Chris forces her to leave, telling her to go home and get some rest. He’ll be fine, he has an army of doctors to help him if something happens and he feels _fine_ , he’s had much worse as far as injuries go. Except for the fact that his memories still stop around fifteen years ago, obviously. He’s on enough painkillers to sleep through the night anyway, and when he wakes up Claire is back at his bedside.

“Did you ever go home?” Chris asks, voice slurred from sleep. He blinks several times, trying to will his eyes to co-operate. “I swear, if you just hid around the corner–”

“Relax,” Claire sighs, rolling her eyes so dramatically they might as well drop out of her head. “I went home, showered, slept, ate, and only then came back here to see if my idiot of a brother was still breathing.” She slaps his arm lightly, huffing. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit warmed over,” Chris croaks out. He makes a valiant attempt at sitting up, though, and it’s a relief when it actually doesn’t hurt as much as he expected it to. “Wanna tell me what actually got me in here?” He looks at her expectantly.

“I don’t even know the specifics,” Claire shrugs a little, apologetic, “it was some super-secret mission that requires security clearances I can only dream of. But they told me you took a solid punch in the face and hit your head when you fell.”

“I can feel that.” Grimacing, Chris brings a hand to his head, gently testing out if there are spots more sore than others. “Geez, I feel like I was run over by a truck or something.”

“I always thought your head was thick enough to protect you from things like this,” Claire grins, a little hesitantly, as if she’s not certain if it’s too soon for jokes. She moves closer, then, abandoning the chair in favor of sitting on the edge of the bed again, like she wants to be as close to her brother as possible. “The doctor said that you can go back home tomorrow, if nothing changes for the worse and if someone will stay with you for a few days to make sure you’re alright.”

Slowly, Chris nods, trying to move his head as little as possible as it does hurt quite a bit. “Will you stay with me?” He asks, but then immediately backtracks. “Wait, can you even? Do you have a job? A family? A husband and three kids and a dog?” Shit, it’s throwing him off, not knowing what his _own sister_ has done with her life. He knows it’s not his fault but he feels like crap.

“No husband, no kids, no dog,” Claire answers with a smile. “A boyfriend, yes, but I think you’ll have to wait a few weeks before the re-introductions. You have enough on your plate and it can wait.” She doesn’t give him the time to comment anything before smoothly going on. “I already called work and I get to take tomorrow off, so I can be with you all day.”

Relief floods Chris immediately at the words. He hadn’t even realized how he’d been dreading the answer, practically holding his breath. Having Claire around made things feel a little more normal, a little more steady, even if she does look older, a little different from what he remembers. 

Claire proceeds to give him a recount on the basics of her life during the past fifteen years. She talks about work, about dating, about movies they’d watched together, occasionally dropping in little updates on their friends – the ones Chris does remember – and what they’re doing nowadays, too. None of it feels in any way familiar to Chris but he tries to remember as much of it as he can.

He’s just about to point out how Leon seems to be in most of the stories Claire recounts, when there’s a tentative knock on the door and the man in question steps inside. He looks tired, even more so than the day before, and he’s holding a disposable tray this time with three coffees on it. “Hey,” he says, and approaches the bed almost hesitantly. “The doctors say you’re allowed caffeine. So I figured.” He made a general gesture towards the coffees.

“Oh yes please,” Chris agrees eagerly, not hesitating for a second as he notices one of the cups has his name scribbled on it. He takes a long sip, sighing contently. “I think I love you.” He means it as a joke, as a kind of a _thank you for the coffee it’s great_ , but when he opens his eyes he immediately notices something is off. Both Claire and Leon are staring at him, eyes wide, and he coughs awkwardly. “I… sorry, I shouldn’t have tried to joke. I’m probably still concussed or something, ignore me. And thanks for the coffee.”

Leon seems to forcibly shake himself from the shocked stillness he’d been rendered to, but then he flashes a quick smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes at all. “Yeah, well. You’re welcome.” Carefully he takes a seat in the chair Claire had abandoned earlier, and finally hands Claire her drink too. He barely glances at her, though, his eyes on Chris all the time. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah. Claire tells me I get to go home tomorrow,” Chris says, as casually as he manages, hoping he can make it up for his earlier slip and turn the mood more relaxed from …whatever this is that it’s turned to. It’s more than a little awkward. “But I apparently need to be babysat for a few days, just in case.”

“That’s… good,” Leon answers, nodding a little. He looks at Claire, then, as if searching for something, and she smiles at him a little, giving a nod. The way they’re silently communicating makes something twist in Chris’ chest. It’s kind of cool, how they get the point across without words, but it also speaks volumes of how close they are. And it makes Chris kind of jealous.

“So,” Chris clears his throat, breaking the silence. “Do I still live in the one bedroom with no hot water, or have I at least made it far enough in life to get away from there?” He figures that living arrangements should be a safe topic, and not cause any unnecessary awkwardness. Boy, how wrong he is. Immediately his companions both shift a little, and it takes a good moment for either to answer.

“Don’t worry,” Leon replies finally. “Your apartment is nice. Four rooms. Even a guest room for when Claire visits. The kitchen is kind of small but it’s not like we–” he cuts himself off, but recovers quickly enough to go on, “ _You_ don’t really cook much so. Doesn’t matter. The shower is gigantic, you’re going to love it.” 

The way he smiles at Chris while talking is so utterly soft, it’s almost too much to handle. Which is such a weird thought Chris doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it any longer, instead focusing on the conversation to keep himself occupied, as mundane and stilted as it is. “Sounds cool. Kinda big, for one guy,” he chuckles, not even really surprised as no one joins in. “I’m assuming I’m not spending that much time there anyway. I mean, if what I remember is anything to go by.”

“Yeah well,” Leon offers a faint grin, “with the jobs we have, it’s not like we get an overabundance of free time. Although you’re not getting any younger, old-timer, you should probably start thinking about retiring soon.” 

It’s a lame joke, and they all know it, but Chris is so relieved at even the attempt of humor that he laughs. “I never thought I’d wake up one day and hear I’m over forty, and not even remember half of the time that it took to get me there. Maybe retiring wouldn’t be such a bad option, really.” He looks at Leon for a moment, studies his expression, although it’s a careful, calm mask by now and not really giving out much emotion. “What do you do? You a cop?”

“An agent,” Leon answers shortly. “Classified. Way above your clearance.” He says it so that Chris doesn’t know if he’s being serious or if he’s joking again, but he has no trouble believing either of the options. All he does remember hearing of Leon – and the agent thing does sound kind of familiar, maybe he did know it already? – and the way the man carries himself, even with the littlest of gestures, all makes him think that he’s clearly damn capable.

He decides to take it as a bit of both. “Impressive,” he drawls with a grin, settling back against the headboard of the bed, in the midst of the extra pillows, to make himself comfortable. “So obviously you’re not just a pretty face, but got some real skill too, right?”

Again there’s something odd in the way Leon looks at him, but Chris doesn’t have the time to dwell on that before Leon replies. “Guess so.” He shrugs a little, and finally a faint smile ghosts over his lips. “Then again, all they needed was someone who was crazy enough to take the job. It’s not exactly a coveted position, they’re pretty much stuck with me.” 

It rings like a half-truth, but Chris doesn’t press. “I could think of worse things,” he says instead, before he has the time to reconsider the wording. Then again, he doesn’t even try to take it back, either, because it’s the truth. Even if he’s not certain that their friendship is the kind of friendship where a little bit of flirting isn’t frowned upon.

Leon huffs, crosses his arms across his chest as he leans back, finished with his coffee. “How can you be sure when you don’t even remember me? I could be absolutely unbearable.”

“I like to think I’m a good judge of character,” Chris replies easily, grinning. “Shouldn’t you just shut up and take the compliment?”

Wordlessly Leon holds up both hands as if in surrender, and Chris takes that as a definite win.

Claire has been quiet for suspiciously long, and when Chris glances at her he realizes she’s just watching the two of them, with this strange expression on her face. It makes Chris backpedal a little. There’s obviously something here he doesn’t know. And even if he and Leon are as good friends as he’d been told, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to lamely attempt to flirt with the man. 

“Claire?” he prompts, getting her attention. “You okay?” 

“Yeah I’m fine,” she answers without hesitation, smiling at him. “I was just… I’m really glad that you’re okay. It’s just weird that we have all these years, all these _memories_ , and you have none of them. I don’t really know what to do with that.” Carefully she grabs his hand, lacing their fingers before giving it a squeeze. 

It’s what they used to do as kids. Whenever Claire felt unsure she used to reach out and grab his hand to squeeze, and he’d return the gesture to show her nothing was wrong. So naturally, he reverts back to the familiarity of the gesture, tightening his hold of her hand for a second to show her that he does remember at least something. 

Maybe it’s a start.

*

“So this is it,” Claire says a little too happily as they step into the spacious living room. She holds her arms outstretched, as if presenting the room to her brother. It’s a bit ridiculous, but she doesn’t seem to give a damn. “Home sweet home.” They both know that it’s not that easy, it’s not going to feel like home to Chris who doesn’t even remember ever living in here. But they can try to pretend.

Slowly Chris comes to a halt in the middle of the room, and silently takes in his surroundings. There’s a couch and two armchairs, a coffee table and an absolutely gigantic TV mounted on the wall. He didn’t even know TVs came that big. One the other side of the room there’s a big bookshelf, with some books, some DVDs, some CDs, and random knickknacks that he doesn’t recognize. It looks like …well, sort of like he expected. Not many personal touches, but then again, none of his apartments had ever had much of those. 

“It’s… nice,” he says, shrugging a little. “A place to crash in between jobs, I guess.”

“Yeah, well,” Claire answers, hands on her hips as she glances around her. “It’s not like you ever were big on interior decorating. You wanna check out the rest of it? I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Be careful so you won’t burn the place down,” Chris says, “I wouldn’t wanna lose a home in addition to my memory.” Claire flips him off, but she’s chuckling as she heads to the kitchen, and obviously the jab at her cooking abilities doesn’t faze her in the slightest.

Being left alone, Chris wanders around the room for a bit. He glances at the bookshelf, but doesn’t have the presence of mind or patience to look through it more thoroughly. So he heads to the door on the right, next to the doorway to the kitchen, and peeks inside curiously. It’s apparently the guest bedroom, as it looks like it hasn’t been used in a while. It’s not much else than a bed, anyway.

Next he heads to the living room again, and crosses it to take a look at the rest of the apartment. The bathroom is spacious, as big as the guestroom, and he has to grin a bit to himself as he sees the shower. Leon had told him he’d love it, and damn, he’d been so right. It seems to have a variety of different settings, and Chris kind of wants to take a shower right now to get the feel for it. 

Abandoning the idea for now, Chris heads from the bathroom to the bedroom. It’s got a king size bed, and distantly Chris wonders if that’s not a bit too much for a single sleeper. But hey, maybe he brings people over often? How’s he supposed to know what kind of a playboy he’s grown up to be. He chuckles at the idea, entertaining it for a while. 

Experimentally he pulls open the drawers of the dresser, opens the closet doors, and just nosily rummages around to see if there’s anything he might recognize. He does find some old shirts that he remembers, but they look a lot more worn and used now than the last time he saw them. Or, the last time he has any recollection of, anyway. He doesn’t exactly spend a lot of time going through the clothes though. There’s quite a bit of empty space in the dresser and the closets, but he shrugs it off.

The walls are empty, but there are little holes above the bed, like from thumbtacks, and it makes Chris think that there must’ve been pictures or something pinned up there earlier. Whatever happened to them, he has no idea. He’s still standing there, staring at the wall, when Claire coughs from the doorway to get his attention. “What are you up to?”

“Just. Hoping I’d remember,” Chris replies, a little too honestly. He had meant to brush it off, but apparently that wasn’t happening. “Everything feels so odd. Like… like it’s all just vague hints and half-truths, and I hate that.” He scowls, but doesn’t want to turn this into a pity party. So he gestures vaguely towards the wall. “You know what happened to whatever it was I had pinned up there?”

Claire looks at the wall, and immediately her expression sours. It’s gone as soon as it came, though, and she smiles again, a little too cheery. “Probably you decided that it was about time to change to new jerk-off material. That’d sound like you, right?” She grins, laughing as he feigns a punch towards her. “C’mon. I’ve got you some delicious microwave heated food.”

*

“I am absolutely wiped out,” Claire sighs, lifting her feet up on the coffee table. They don’t get to be there for long, not before Leon easily kicks them off, causing Claire to grumble theatrically, but keep her feet down on the floor afterwards. “I haven’t slept properly for a few nights now, and it’s all _your_ fault.” She jabs an accusing finger at Chris, playful enough so he knows not to take it too seriously.

“Then go to bed,” Leon answers without even looking up from the carton of Chinese food he’s picking through. “The guestroom is right there.” 

The microwaved food hadn’t really ended up well earlier, as it had been so bad they had barely managed to get a few bites down. Claire had called Leon, then, and he’d promised to come over later with food. True to his words had appeared an hour and a half later. From then on, they’d been lounging in the living room, Chris and Claire on the couch and Leon in one of the armchairs. 

Claire makes a weird protesting sound, sinking even deeper into the cushions. “I thought you might want to crash in the guest room?” she says then, looking questioningly at Leon. “I mean, you… would it be too weird?” 

“Why would it be weird?” Chris asks, confused, before he can think better of it. Surely if they were as good friends as he thought they were, they must’ve spent the night at each other’s places more than once. 

“It wouldn’t,” Leon answers quickly, eyes still stubbornly fixed onto the food he’s barely taken a few bites from, only nibbling on it for show more than anything. “But I don’t think I should.” He doesn’t offer any explanation on that, and before Chris can get to any questions Claire heaves herself up from her place, throwing the empty carton she’d been holding onto the table. 

“Fine. I’m at least going to take a nap. Wake me up before you leave, okay?” Claire looks at Leon until he finally looks up long enough to give her a small nod. Apparently satisfied with that, she all but wobbles off into the guest room, closing the door behind herself for some peace and privacy. 

The silence stretches on for a while, and in what he hopes is a stealthy manner Chris tries to study his companion a little. Leon is determinedly not meeting his gaze, for reasons Chris can’t really understand, but doesn’t really have any polite way of asking, either. There’s too much going on in his head, as he can’t understand how he feels utterly awkward and entirely comfortable around Leon, both at the same time. 

Finally Leon sighs. “What is it?” He looks up, finally meeting Chris’ eyes straight. “You’ve been staring at me for half of the evening. Is it… Are you…” he hesitates, but then forces the words out, “Remembering anything?”

“No, it’s not that,” Chris says, grimacing apologetically. “I just. I’m sorry, I can’t piece things together and I’ve got this weird feeling of _almost_ remembering half the time.” He shifts in his place, bringing his feet up on the couch to get comfortable on it. He half expects Leon to kick his feet off the couch the same way he’d kicked Claire’s feet off the table earlier, but apparently feet are allowed on the couch as nothing happens. 

Leon nods. Finally he abandons his half-eaten food, setting the carton on the table before leaning back in his seat. “I get that. And I don’t mean to push.” There’s a small smile ghosting over his lips as he looks back at Chris. 

Momentarily Chris gets distracted by Leon’s eyes. They’re really pretty eyes, but in addition to that there’s something about them that seems to just draw him in. Must be the familiarity, he thinks, maybe his brain is trying to remember something and latches on to whatever’s most convenient. And apparently now it’s his friend’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I want things to go back to normal, too.”

“Even though you have no idea what the normal actually is,” Leon says, and it’s not accusatory, it’s not angry, it’s just sort of a little defeated. He sounds pretty much how Chris feels. 

“Yeah.” Chris sighs. “Although it kind of sounded like our lives aren’t exactly what others would consider normal. Like, fighting zombies for a living? Can’t make that shit up.” Curiously he peers at Leon, arching a questioning eyebrow at him. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be on some super secret agent mission?”

Leon huffs out a chuckle, at least distantly amused. “This isn’t like in the movies. I’m hardly James Bond.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chris waves aside, “but you know what I mean. Did you call your boss and ask for a day off? Or are _you_ the boss and can do what you want?” Somehow, he thinks, he wouldn’t even be surprised by either of the options.

“Technically, at the moment I answer directly to the president,” Leon answers, looking almost embarrassed about the admission. As if it isn’t something to be bragging about. “And I… well, I haven’t been cleared back to duty yet after the most recent… incident. Might take a few weeks.” There is something hesitant in the way he speaks, like he doesn’t know what to say, or how to say it. 

Chris decides not to comment on that. It’s fine, anyway, he doesn’t need detailed explanations now. “Oh, _the president_ ,” he laughs, instead, voice dropping to a teasing drawl as he goes on. “How did you manage that? You’ve _also_ got big brains in that pretty head of yours?” _What the hell_ , Chris tells himself, when it’s already too late to take the words back. Somehow he’s managed to call Leon pretty already twice in the past two days, without even meaning to. And that’s only the times he’s said it out loud, he’s thought it much more often. Not that it isn’t true, obviously, but usually he has a better grip on himself. At least from what he remembers he didn’t have a habit of accidentally trying to flirt with people.

Thankfully Leon doesn’t seem to take any offense. He just chuckles, ducking his head down to hide his grin. “Well, one of us has to.”

*

Eventually Leon leaves, and Chris has to admit he watches him go more than a little wistfully. He tells Claire to go back to bed, and finally goes to check out that amazing shower. It’s as good as he thought it’d be, and after ten minutes under the warm spray he’s beginning to feel a little more human again. He takes his time, wills himself to relax, and ends up actually enjoying himself.

Afterwards he stops in front of the mirror, wiping the fog off it to see if he has to shave. It takes some effort to recognize the person staring back at him in the mirror. Slowly he brings a hand to his cheek, draws his fingers over his nose and his chin, and tries to adjust his mind to reality. His latest memory of himself is from over a decade ago, but he hasn’t really changed that much. He’s gained muscle mass, his hair is different, and he looks plain _tired_. But he doesn’t have much trouble believing it’s him in the mirror.

With a sigh Chris turns to leave. He only wraps a towel around his waist, and pads into the kitchen to get something to drink. The place feels odd, like he’s living in a hotel or like he’s visiting someone, and although he knows it’s his home it doesn’t really feel like it. There’s a sudden wave of homesickness, as stupid as he feels for it, and after downing an entire glass of water he decides he needs something stronger. He opens all the cabinets, rifles through them and stops with every other item to wonder how he has that. There are snacks he doesn’t like or recognize, and he just assumes he’s taken to buying food for visiting friends, too. Or then he’s learned to like them sometime in the past fifteen years.

There’s nothing alcoholic in the kitchen, not even beer, and Chris takes his search into the living room. Maybe there’s a liquor cabinet there. As he goes through the bookshelf he notices how many of the books seem worn and read, many having pages turned in. It makes a twinge of irritation flash through Chris and he resists the urge to straighten every page. 

His search proves futile in the living room as well. Annoyed, he scowls, unable to believe his bad luck. Just when he could’ve really used a shot of something strong. With a sigh he gives up, though, and decides he’ll just head to bed. Maybe he’ll wake up in the morning with his memories intact.

He can always hope.

*

Day four goes by much like the previous evening. Everything in the apartment feels weird and out of place to Chris, as if it’s almost familiar but now quite. Claire hangs out with him for most of the day, but then she has to check in at work and Leon takes over the _babysit-Chris-duty_. It could’ve been more than a little annoying, Chris thinks, but he can’t help but admit he does feel kind of vulnerable and having company helps.

It’s not like they do anything special, even. They order takeout, again, and end up watching TV for most of the day. Chris keeps asking random questions every once in a while, whenever something pops into his mind. Mostly they’re safe questions, about things that happened, about common friends and acquaintances they have. He avoids everything he thinks might turn out to be a heavier topic. He doesn’t feel ready, not yet, and Leon doesn’t push.

On day five, Claire appears again, together with Leon and at least half a dozen thick photo albums. Again she’s awfully cheery, to the point that it’s obvious to everyone she’s faking most of it. “So, big bro, we’re going to see if any of this jogs your memory,” she announces as she slams two albums on the coffee table.

Considerably more reserved, Leon carefully sets down the rest of the albums. “I had no idea you even had this many baby pictures,” he comments, arching an eyebrow at Chris almost amusedly. “If I’d known, I would’ve blackmailed them out of Claire years ago.”

“I remember being a kid,” Chris points out with a stern look at his sister. “And I remember you being a kid, and all the embarrassing stories that go along with it. It’s not like I have to sit through nude baby pics if I’m only missing my late twenties and thirties.”

“Oh shut up,” Claire huffs and shoves him to sit down on the couch. She takes the seat next to him, pulling up the first album. “I just thought it’d be fun to look at them, too, to have something you actually do remember. We don’t want to strain that tiny brain of yours too much, do we?” That now is comfortingly like _her_ , normal and reassuring, and Chris can’t even bring himself to be insulted. 

“Fine,” Chris sighs, leaning in obediently. He’s kind of a little disappointed when Leon takes the armchair again, instead of sitting on the couch on the empty spot on the other side of him, but he quickly shakes it off as he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling. “Where do we begin?”

Claire goes through an album of photos that are taken in the two first years that Chris is missing from his memories. Everyone looks young and familiar, and Chris _aches_ for the way he’d feel much more at home if he was thrown back to that time. There are some people he doesn’t recognize, but Claire and Leon patiently tell him who they are, filling in where he met them and everything else they deem relevant.

There are pictures with Leon, too, and Chris can’t help but sneak looks at the man sitting across the table from him, to compare how he looked then to how he is now. Obviously Leon has aged, like anyone, more lines on his face and a hint of stubble, a scar on his cheek that wasn’t there, along with minute details he’s sure changed but can’t be seen from the small photos. The eyes are the same, though. As well as the haircut, which Chris comments on, startling a laugh out of both Leon and Claire.

As they progress through the years – with some blessed distraction from the baby pictures in between, Chris never would’ve thought he’d actually enjoy looking at all those embarrassing things – at some point there are empty spots in the albums. Someone has taken several pictures out, and when Chris tries to ask about it he doesn’t get an answer from either of the others. 

They spend hours going through the albums, only pausing to eat and then getting back to it. There are birthdays, Christmases, random group photos and holidays, anything and everything, but none of it makes Chris feel like his memory is any closer to resurfacing. It’s frustrating, more than that.

The tension seeps into his muscles slowly, creeping up on him without him really noticing how bad it gets until he’s gripping his knees knuckles white, so tight it kind of hurts. His breathing is shallow, agitated, and when Claire picks up the last photo album Chris practically shoves it away. “Not any more, okay. Not today,” he grunts, barely able to keep his voice level. 

His agitation is clear and Claire doesn’t argue, even if she still keeps a hold of the last album. The look she gives him is full of empathy. “So… nothing looks familiar? Nothing at all?”

Chris shrugs. “Well. I recognize some people…” he starts, slowly, already grimacing at the way the reply isn’t what anyone wanted. “But other than that… no. Nothing.” There’s a photo on the cover of the album where he’s sitting at a hotel pool, giving a thumbs up at the camera, with Claire sitting next to him grinning, and he has no idea where the hell the photo was even taken. There are literally no memories attached to them, and even though he does recognize people from them they still look kind of off.

“Fuck this,” Chris groans and pushes the album further from himself, not even caring when Claire loses her grip and it drops to the floor with a thud. “I need a drink,” he sighs, dropping his face into his palms, rubbing his temples as if it might jog his memory, help his brain somehow kickstart properly. “Either of you know where my super secret liquor stash is, because I can’t seem to find a drop of alcohol in this place?”

There’s no answer, only an awkward silence, and eventually Chris looks up with a frown. He didn’t swear off alcohol at some point during the past fifteen years, did he? He doesn’t think it sounds like him, really. So he turns his questioning gaze at his sister, but Claire just avoids it and turns to pick up the album from the floor.

Before Chris manages to demand an answer Leon breaks the silence, although he’s also awkwardly avoiding looking at Chris properly, instead apparently finding his shoes so very interesting. “You don’t have one,” he offers, a little hesitantly. “But you could. You know, buy some.”

Leon looks up, meeting Chris’ gaze, and there’s something oddly… vulnerable in his gaze that Chris cannot entirely interpret. “ _Leon_ ,” Claire hisses, drawing his attention. Claire gives Leon a sharp glare, and again Chris feels kind of an outsider as an elaborate conversation takes place with their eyebrows and frowns alone. 

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Chris interrupts eventually, and gets twin looks of guilt in return. When no answer is forthcoming, he eventually gives in, shaking his head a little. “I’m not angling to get smashed here, I can deal without. Look,” he shrugs a little, “could we just order food or something?”

“Sure,” Claire immediately jumps at the suggestion, practically running to the kitchen to grab all the flyers they have. 

At least that’s something they don’t need to argue over, as they all easily agree on what to get. No one mentions any of the photo albums, nor the fact that Chris’ memory is as gone as it was before this attempt. There’s barely conversation, at all, the TV running in the background while they drop a comment here and there. 

Even after the food is gone they stay there, Chris slouched in his favorite corner of the couch with Claire’s feet in his lap, and Leon still curled into the plush armchair as if he’s trying to hide in it. The silence is companionable, and Chris can’t deny he actually enjoys it even if he’d enjoy getting his memories back even more. 

It’s getting late, and Chris is almost dozing off already when suddenly Claire’s voice gets his attention. “Look, I’m worried about you,” Claire says, softly, barely audibly.

Chris already opens his mouth to reply, but then with a start he realizes she’s not talking to _him_. She’s looking at Leon, her mouth downturned and her eyes sad. It makes Chris more than a little curious, and he turns to look at Leon, too. 

“I’m fine.” Leon grits out through clenched teeth. He’s obviously uncomfortable under the scrutiny, even if he stubbornly just sits there and stares at the TV screen as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen in his life. Even though it’s the commercial break. 

He’s most definitely not fine, Chris thinks, it’s obvious to anyone who just takes a moment longer to watch him. There are dark circles under his eyes, his hair messy, expression tired and unfocused. He’s still wearing the same clothes he wore the day before, only crinkled now. But the most telling thing is the haunted look in his eyes, the way he keeps stealing glances at Chris when he thinks no one’s looking.

It leaves Chris confused. There’s this whole… unsettling feeling of having forgotten something, but hey, that’s his life right now. He doesn’t remember a lot of it. This makes him especially uneasy though. If he’d only have his memories he could help, be there for his friend, maybe support him through whatever he is dealing with…

He doesn’t get the chance to ask about it, not before Claire speaks up again. “Have you slept at all since…” she pushes, but doesn’t even get the entire question out before she’s interrupted. 

“Can it!” Leon snaps. The look he gives her is nearly murderous, and he’s clearly not comfortable talking about whatever it is that’s bothering him. Immediately afterwards his expression melts into something apologetic, though, his voice soft as he adds “I said I’m fine.” 

Claire looks pinched, but doesn’t say anything further. Instead she switches the topic completely, maybe as a sort of a peace offering. 

Silently, Chris thinks that he should ask what that was all about. Maybe when he and Leon get a moment alone, he can find out if they’re the sort of friends who share secrets with each other or not. There is this urgent need to help rearing its head inside of him, and he decides he’ll at least try to do something about it. 

For now, he lets it be, as does Claire. No one even tries to bring it up again. But when Leon dozes off for a while in the middle of some procedural cop show, both Chris and Claire keep as silent as they can not to accidentally wake him up. It’s only a nap, but he obviously needs it, and it’s better than nothing.

*

Things are at a frustrating standstill, and Chris wants to hit something. Instead he cleans. He goes through the entire apartment, even though it’s not exactly in a bad shape to begin with. Having something to do keeps him grounded, and he feels at least marginally calmer when he’s scrubbed the kitchen and the bathroom so clean they friggin’ sparkle.

He manages to spend almost two days with his Mission Cleanliness. Claire stops by to help him for a bit the first day, but the second day he’s all on his own, which suits him fine. Although he can’t help but think that going two days without even seeing Leon feels surprisingly long. It makes no sense, how badly he misses him already, and he chalks it up to how weird and fuzzy his head feels because of the memory loss. 

Even with the distractions, some of the anxiousness remains by the evening of his second day alone, and Chris doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s so restless he decides against sleep, and just marches to the bookshelf, grabbing the first book at random. Whatever it is, it’s better than listening to the silence echoing in the apartment, or even worse, his own thoughts. 

Chris curls up on the couch, getting comfortable, and opens the book. Something catches his attention, the corner of a photo sticking out from between the pages. Carefully he eases it out, but when he sees the picture he nearly drops the book as his grip on it goes slack. 

It’s a picture taken from a party, apparently in this apartment. There’s Claire, and a handful of people he recognizes as well as some he doesn’t. But what catches his attention is himself. And Leon. They’re standing a bit to the side, next to the wall, both grinning widely at each other.

His arm is around Leon. And not around him in a _I-just-clapped-your-shoulder-in-a-brotherly-manner_ kind of way, but in a _gently-holding-your-waist-to-keep-you-near_ kind of way. He has dipped his fingers into the pocket of Leon’s jeans, too, and goddamnit.

Chris knows himself. As much as his first instinct is to deny it, he can’t. He looks like a goddamn fool in love. Hand shaking, Chris brushes his fingers over the photo, as if trying to make it more palpable. There’s a date scribbled in the bottom of if, from six years ago. Next to it the words _housewarming party_.

No longer in the mood to even read, Chris practically throws both the book and the photo from his hands and onto the coffee table. Nervously he wipes his clammy palms on his pants, trying to ignore the way his hands still shake. There’s not a single coherent thought in his mind, and no matter how much he tries and tries to remember he’s got nothing.

When he closes his eyes, he can still see the photo, as if it’d been burned onto his eyelids.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the encouraging comments and for being so nice to me ;;❤ here's the second part, i hope you'll enjoy!

Chris barely sleeps during the night, tossing and turning, his mind racing a million miles an hour. He grabs his phone at least a dozen times, already typing a message to send to Leon, or to Claire, to ask any and all of the thousand questions in his mind. He even tries to see if there are some old messages for him to read, but apparently when he got hurt he also broke his phone, or lost it, and the brand new one he has doesn’t have any information for him.

When the morning comes he’s exhausted, and even the long shower he takes doesn’t exactly help. Practically sleepwalking he drags himself to the kitchen and makes himself the strongest coffee he can manage. That at least wakes him up a little, to the point that he’s somewhat functional. He shoots a text to Claire, who promises to come by after work, and to Leon, who doesn’t reply. 

Chris doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved about the latter. 

To keep himself busy, Chris begins to systematically go through the apartment, to see if he’d find something familiar, something that might spark that all elusive memory. The bookshelf doesn’t really yield anything new, no other photos or notes, just books most of which he has no recollection of either. The guest room is generic and doesn’t have much, except for one drawer that seems to hold Claire’s spare clothes in it. 

Silently he pads into the bedroom, rifling through the clothes he finds there. Now that he looks at them closer, there are several shirts that are obviously too small for him, and that’s already enough to make his heart race. That along with the empty space, where _someone else_ ’s clothes are supposed to be… Clearly, he’s not the only one who lives here. It’s kind of embarrassing how he’s only now figuring it out, but then again, someone – _Leon_ , his mind supplies – apparently tried to remove at least the most obvious clues, like the photos tacked onto the wall. 

Claire drops by as she’d promised. “We seriously need to stop with the takeout and start living a healthier life,” she says by way of greeting as she steps in with two plastic bags, waving them in the air a little. “I know it’s comfort food and we’re all going through a rough patch but, still.”

“Do I know how to cook?” Chris asks, mildly curious. He takes the bags from her, as she waltzes into the kitchen and comes back with the necessary utensils and two cans of soda for them. Chris kind of wishes it was beer, but he can deal. 

“Well,” Claire shrugs, “I don’t think skills like cooking go into your muscle memory enough. I’m pretty sure you’ll have to learn it again. Besides,” she snickers, “it’s not like you ever knew more than five different dishes, and three of those are casseroles.” 

They settle on the couch again, side by side, and Claire keeps bumping their knees together in a sort of a show of solidarity. “Your friends keep asking about you,” she begins when they’re halfway through their food, “they don’t wanna make it worse, so they just text me instead of you. And I know it makes sense because you don’t even remember meeting half of them but…”

She trails off, and Chris waits for a moment before prompting. “But…”

“Maybe you could let them know you’re alright? Or at least, getting there?” Claire suggests finally, with a tentative little smile. “I don’t mean right now, but… when you feel ready to. Just think about it, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. I’ll do that.” Chris knows that he should make attempts to go back to the regular life he’d had, to make connections and try to fix whatever this thing has messed up. Yet it’s only been a bit over a week, and he thinks he’s allowed some time to just… readjust. To settle within himself. He has no intentions to abandon his friendships and the people that he logically knows care about him, but right now, he can’t really bring himself to do anything about it. He doesn’t have enough mental capacity for that.

Yet there is this burning need to set things right with one certain person he’s forgotten. It burns under his skin, leaves him restless and fidgety, and he can barely hold back from asking Claire all of the questions that are rolling in his head. “Do you know what’s up with Leon?” he asks eventually, instead of any of the really important questions. The look Claire shoots him is kind of wary, but it melts away as Chris shrugs and goes on. “He hasn’t answered my texts all day.”

“He’s got an official evaluation today,” Claire explains, clearly relieved that the question wasn’t whatever she’d been expecting at first, “both a physical and a mental one, I guess, to determine if he’s ready to be back on active duty again. He probably just didn’t have time, don’t worry about it. I’m going to drop by to check up on him in a bit.”

That now gets Chris’ attention and he frowns. “Check up on him? Why?”

For a second Claire hesitates, but then apparently decides that honesty is the best option for now. “Because I’m worried. Sometimes the psych check takes a lot out of him,” she gives him a wan smile, only poking at her food by now, not really in the mood to finish it. “I just… don’t want him to be alone.”

Something twists in Chris’ chest, and before he even realizes he’s speaking he already blurts out “I could go? Or you could ask him here?” He doesn’t really understand why he feels such a need to ensure that Leon is okay, especially since he still doesn’t remember him from before he woke up at the hospital. Yet the need is there, apparently not going away.

Claire’s face is a picture of empathy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not considering…” vaguely she waves at his head, to signal what she’s trying not to say, and it’s really enough. 

“Yeah. Okay.” It’s not exactly making Chris happy but he does see the logic in it. He could just end up making things worse, with an ill timed or accidentally insensitive comment, and that really wouldn’t be in favor of anyone. So he agrees to trust his sister’s judgment, even if he’s not happy about it. “Tell him to come by tomorrow though? I’m worried, too.”

*

The next day there’s a knock on his door a bit before noon, and Chris automatically assumes it’s Claire, before he heads to the door and throws it open only to come face to face with Leon. He’s carrying two bags of groceries, looking kind of apologetic, as he shuffles awkwardly in his place. “Hey. Claire told me you wanted to see me?” The words come out way too hopeful not to be noticed, but quickly Leon coughs and goes on as nonchalantly as he can. “She also told me she’s officially banned takeout?”

Oh that explains the groceries, Chris thinks, and can’t help but grin at the thought. “I hope you know how to cook, because the only thing I remember how to do is basically throwing a frozen pizza in the oven and setting the timer.” He opens the door further, signaling for Leon to step in. 

“Well I can make a basic risotto?” Leon offers, but whatever he’s trying to say next gets cut off by a yelp as he loses his grip on the overstuffed bag he’d been holding under his right arm. The contents end up sprawled all over the floor, and instinctively Chris already bends down to pick some of them up to help. 

“You got enough fruit for a lifetime,” Chris laughs as he grabs one of the dozen oranges that almost manage to roll past him in the direction of the living room. But then something else catches his attention and he grabs the key from the floor, frowning at the tag attached to it. “Leon… this is a motel key?” he frowns at the other man, even though behind the confused face he’s already piecing things together.

Leon flushes barely noticeably, trying to aim for a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, well. I’m kind of in between apartments right now? So.” Quickly he gathers whatever he can into his arms, all but running into the kitchen to put them away. He’s shaking, even though it’s so subtle it’s next to impossible to notice. Chris only does because he’s paying attention. 

Slowly Chris follows him, with the rest of the food. He knows the answer is absolute bullshit, but he doesn’t comment on it, instead choosing a different route. For a moment they put things away silently, and Chris follows the way Leon seems to know exactly where everything belongs, like the kitchen is his own. _That_ is what he chooses to lead with. “Is that why you know your way in here so well?” He pauses, but only for a second, and then powers on. “Is that why there are your clothes in the closet in the master bedroom?”

The way Leon shrugs is defensive, and he doesn’t look away from where he’s set out for making the promised food, already peeling an onion. “There are Claire’s clothes in here, too,” he says, completely ignoring the first question and only answering the second in what clearly is avoidance.

“Yeah, in the guest room, not in the main bedroom,” Chris sighs, barely able to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He’s fairly certain that anger won’t get him anywhere, though, so he forces himself to be as calm as he possibly can. “Leon,” he calls, and waits silently until the other man looks at him. He holds his gaze, and then _finally_ asks the question that’s been burning on his mind for days now. “What are we to each other?”

“Friends of course,” the answer comes a little too quickly, a little too flippantly. Then Leon’s hand slips, and he manages to cut himself instead of the onion he’d been beginning to chop. The cut isn’t big, but there’s a little bit of blood oozing from his forefinger, and with a deep breath he sets the knife down, leaning against the counter and closing his eyes. 

Chris approaches him, but stops a few steps away, not entirely sure how close he can get right now, not to make it worse. “Leon, c’mon. I’m sick of being treated like I might break any second, and people just walking on eggshells around me. Tell me the truth, I can handle it.”

“ _I_ can’t.” Leon all but whispers, refusing to look at Chris. He keeps his eyes closed, hangs his head down, and his voice is no louder when he goes on. “I can’t handle _any_ of this.”

“We’re not friends, are we?” Chris hazards a guess. No, it’s more than that, at this point it’s not just a blind guess. It’s pretty much the only thing he’s certain of. He’s found enough proof to support what he already felt deep down to begin with. 

“Well, we are,” Leon laughs, joyless, and for a moment it still seems like that’s all he’s willing to share. Eventually he adds in a barely audible mutter “but… there’s. That’s not all.”

Having his suspicions confirmed somehow makes the uneasiness inside of Chris settle. It’s better to know what’s going on, instead of being kept in the dark and in the endless loop of questions. He mulls it over in his mind, chewing lightly on his lower lip. “How long?”

Leon looks up at him, finally, his expression wary and his eyes clear. “You really wanna know?” He turns around, leans back against the kitchen counter, as if he needs the support. Maybe he does.

Not like Chris can blame him. He nods firmly. “I do.”

At that, Leon huffs out a laugh, short and humorless. “Eleven years. Eleven _fucking_ years, and then _this_ happens. We,” he inhales, voice wavering, but he forces himself to go on anyway, “we didn’t… I mean. It’s been six years since we got this place. Together.” He finishes in a small voice. 

Chris is floored. _Eleven years_. They’re practically fucking _married_ already, if they’ve been committed to each other that long. He has no idea what to say, how to react. Yet he believes the words, has not even a shadow of a doubt that they’re true. He’s known from the start that he feels comfortable around Leon, easy and natural in a way that has to come from knowing each other thoroughly. 

“Okay,” he says, then, and shrugs a little. “This fucking sucks.” That’s obviously putting it mildly, the entire situation more than sucks. But it’s not like he has any other words to describe it, either. 

“Tell me about it,” Leon laughs again, still hollow. He looks so tired.

“Look, I get that you need your space, or whatever, but…” Chris trails off, and for a moment he studies Leon’s face, his slumped shoulders and the way he’s all but curled in on himself. “Come back home,” he blurts out. He’s not even surprised when he realizes that he means it. “You shouldn’t exile yourself into a motel just because I have a gigantic gap in my memory.”

Leon looks at him, shocked. “You mean that?” There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, something desperate in the choked tone of his voice, and even if Chris wasn’t as sure as he is, there would be no way he could take it back. 

So Chris nods, even offers a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. We’ll figure this out. It’s your home, too. I’ve got no right to keep you from it.” 

“You kind of do,” Leon replies, but at least he gives an awkward smile, which is so much better than the emptiness that’s been his near constant expression for days now. It’s a start. “You don’t even remember consenting to sharing living space with me.”

“No,” Chris admits with a small shrug, “but damn, I can see why this happened,” he gestures between the two of them, and tentatively gives Leon as bright a grin as he can manage, “I mean, have you _seen_ you? Hot damn.”

That finally gets an honest chuckle out of Leon, even if he also gives a small exasperated headshake to go along with it. “Yeah, well. So you keep telling me.”

Hoping that he’s not being too forward, Chris takes a couple more steps until he’s so close he can reach out and put one warm palm on Leon’s shoulder. “Listen,” he turns more serious, trying to show just how much he means what he’s about to say, “I might not remember everything – or anything – that happened between us, but I still want you around. This is your home, and we’re adult enough to share, and just… see what happens?”

Leon just nods, but he makes a valiant attempt at a smile that Chris can really appreciate.

Their talk is far from over, though, and they both know it, so Chris decides to take the plunge and venture forward now that they’ve gotten the ball rolling. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s an awkward shrug at first, but then Leon thankfully decides to use his words. “Because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to anything. Just because we’ve got history, it doesn’t mean you have to… that we have to… that anything has to happen.” He struggles to get the words out properly but his tone is even, considerably calmer than before. “Claire thinks I’m being an idiot.”

“She’s kind of right, you know,” Chris says honestly, “I think it would’ve been better if you’d just told me straight from the beginning. _But_ ,” he stresses the word, cutting Leon off before he manages to protest, “I get where you’re coming from, too. It can’t be easy. I mean, you remember everything and it was still taken away from you. I at least have no idea what I’m missing out on.”

Leon inhales shakily, but when he speaks his voice is surprisingly steady. “Chris, I don’t _care_ that you don’t remember our anniversary, or my favorite color, or how I take my coffee, or any of those things. But you don’t remember _me_. You don’t remember even meeting me, much less anything… any– _Anything_.” He groans, at a loss of words. “You don’t remember _us_.”

“Leon…”

“No, let me finish, please,” Leon swallows hard, closes his eyes for a second, but then meets Chris’ gaze and forces himself to get the words out. “I don’t expect anything from you, I really don’t. It’s not your fault you lost your memories, and it’s not like you just decided one day that _hey, I’m done playing house with Kennedy, it’s time for a fresh start_ , or anything. But I. You’ve become such a gigantic part of my life that I don’t think I could handle not having you in it. So, just. Even if… even if this, if us, doesn’t happen again… please let me be your friend, at least. I promise I won’t make it awkward.”

He stops, bites his lip, and looks so _gutted_ , that it breaks Chris’ heart. 

“C’mere.” In one step Chris is in front of Leon and immediately pulls him into his arms. A sound dangerously close to a whimper escapes Leon as he sinks into Chris’ chest, buries his face into Chris’ neck, and practically melts against him to be as close as possible. Chris takes his time, keeps slowly stroking Leon’s back, holds him close, allows him to have the moment for as long as he needs it.

And it’s not like Chris gains nothing from it. Already the closeness feels almost grounding, like for at least a while his world stops spinning madly out of control, and he’s solidly where he’s supposed to be. After a while he gives in to the temptation and presses his face close to Leon’s hair, inhaling deep. It’s like something stirs inside of him at the familiar scent, almost like a memory but not quite, elusively escaping him just when he’s about to catch it. 

Eventually they pull back, standing a little awkwardly so close to each other. “Just move back home, okay,” Chris says eventually, and although he’s not really sure about anything else in his life right now, he is sure that’s the right thing to do. For the both of them. “We’ll see where things go from there.”

“Okay,” Leon nods, a hint of a smile ghosting over his lips, gone as soon as it appeared. “Okay.”

*

The next day Leon appears back, like they’d agreed. He has three bags with everything he’d removed from the apartment, and he stands in the hallway awkwardly with them at his feet, like he’s still not sure if he belongs here. Thankfully Claire is there to tide them over the first wave of awkwardness, as she keeps ushering Leon inside. “Now come on, we don’t have all day for you to just stand around,” she huffs, and it helps, her pretended nonchalance makes everything feel at least a little more normal.

“So,” Claire drawls as soon as she spots Chris in the living room, curiously tilts her head at him as she squints at him questioningly. “I heard you two talked?” She doesn’t specify any further but it’s not like she needs to, everyone knows what she’s referring to. “Fucking finally! I wanted _the talk_ to happen on day one, so I’m glad you finally got to it! _But_ …” There’s sharpness to her gaze, as she steps closer to her brother, poking him in the chest with her index finger. “And _you_ listen to me. If you’ll hurt my best friend I’ll _end you_.”

Leon sighs, a clearly embarrassed flush staining his cheeks. “Claire… I’m forty, not fourteen. You don’t need to–”

“Oh shush,” Claire waved at him dismissively, but the smile is back on her lips. “I know what I’m doing, let me be.”

“I’m your _brother_ ,” Chris points out, arching an eyebrow at the exchange, “shouldn’t you be threatening _him_ to treat _me_ right?”

“No,” Claire replies without a beat. “ _Him_ I trust. He’s my favorite.”

Chris would argue, but honestly, the lines of tension in Leon’s face soften a little bit, and that is already enough to make any and all teasing absolutely worth it. So he doesn’t comment on it, just good-naturedly allows Claire to push them both around, allowing himself to be the butt of the jokes. There are still leftovers from the risotto that they had actually managed to get done the previous day, and together with some quick salad it makes a decent enough dinner.

Claire’s ban on takeout obviously doesn’t extend to other kinds of junk food, as she pulls out at least four bags of chips as she announces they’ll be watching a movie next. It’s nice, relaxed and normal, and if Chris spends more time stealing glances at Leon than watching the movie then, well, no one seems to really notice. Inwardly Chris reminds himself to thank Claire later, because her presence certainly eases away most of the awkward tension.

It’s already late when the movie ends. Somehow they end up in the guest room, where Claire busies herself going through the drawers to see whatever she’s left there. Leon is sitting on the edge of the bed, and after a while Claire practically throws herself down next to him on the mattress. “You sure you’ll be okay here?” she asks, tilting her head enough to catch a glance at him. “If you want, I can stay over too.”

Chris snorts from where he’s standing in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “To what? Protect him from me?” he asks incredulously, frowning at her almost theatrically. “I’m hurt. You come to my home and continue to insult me.”

“Shut up,” Claire replies easily, smiling brightly at him. “I’m a fucking joy to be around, you should both be grateful you have me in your lives.”

“Oh, we are,” Leon answers immediately, even reaches out to pat her leg. “So very grateful.”

Claire’s smile turns even brighter, and she gives her brother a pointed look. “See? This is why he’s my favorite.”

The words make something warm stir in Chris’ chest and he can’t help but smile softly at Leon, ignoring Claire entirely. It gets even worse when Leon actually smiles right back at him. Maybe this’ll work out eventually, with minimal awkwardness. At least he can hope.

*

Cooking together is something Chris never would’ve thought he’d do, with anyone, but somehow he finds himself enjoying it. He’s stationed by the counter with a sharp knife and carrots, bell peppers, and an assortment of other vegetables he’s supposed to cut into proper bite sized chunks. Meanwhile Leon’s manning the stove, as they make their first attempt at a basic stir fry.

It’s so domestic, so calm and casual, that at one point Chris is almost able to ignore how his memory is still entirely shot to hell. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he speaks up on a whim, and when Leon just hums in response he goes on, “what did we have pinned on the wall above the bed?” 

Leon gives him a curious look, but then just shrugs lightly. “Pictures. I have them, I can show you if you’d like.” He looks up, meeting Chris’ eyes straight. “I don’t know if it’ll help, I mean, we did look at like a million of Claire’s photos. But they’re a part of your life as much as mine, so…”

“Yeah, I’d love to see them,” Chris agrees easily. Who knows, maybe these photos might bring him back at least some memories. It definitely wouldn’t hurt to try, it’s not like things could get worse, at least. “Are they… special occasions?” he hazards a guess, hoping that maybe it’ll make Leon open up and tell him more about their lives. 

The first answer he gains is a shrug, but then Leon decides to actually answer. “Some of them. There’s one from Claire’s birthday. You know,” he looks up, smiling a soft and wistful smile, “the one where we first met. But some of the photos are just… random ones that we just thought were nice. We can look at them after dinner.”

Suddenly Chris wishes that the dinner would already be over, and that they could go straight to the photos and possible memories. But he decides he can be patient, because this indeed is kind of nice. So he settles for a soft “Thank you.” and continues chopping. 

The dinner is an uneventful affair, and Chris is almost proud of himself for how he manages to stay calm throughout it all and not ask about the photos even once. It seems that he’s not as casually patient as he hoped he was, though, since as soon as they’re done Leon huffs out a faint laugh and gestures for him to get up. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Leon rummages through one of the bags he had, the one he hasn’t yet unpacked, and he pulls out a stack of photographs, looking at them almost gently. “Where do you want to do this?” he asks. 

Without thinking about it further, Chris blurts out the first thing that comes into his mind. “Bedroom.” He gets a surprised look for that, and only then realizes how that could possibly sound when taken out of context, and so he hurries to explain. “I mean. I thought. We could pin them back on the wall? Where they’re supposed to be?”

That earns him such a soft look that he knows, instantly, that he’s made the right decision. 

That’s how they end up sitting on the bed, knees touching and the pile of photos between them, along with a mug full of thumbtacks. Leon grabs the first picture and looks at it for a second, a faint smile ghosting over his lips, before he hands it over to Chris. “This is the one I already mentioned. The one from Claire’s birthday.”

Chris takes the offered photo, and it makes something inside of him twist. Claire is smiling brightly at the camera, looking so young and happy and full of life. Beside her there’s Leon, equally young and bright-eyed, even if his smile is a little less wide. And then Chris himself, on the other side of Claire, his arm thrown over her shoulders. 

“She said she wanted a picture with ‘her brothers’,” Leon says, complete with the air quotes, a fond smile on his face. “She kind of adopted me into the family immediately, y’know, and you never protested but just took it like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

The mere thought of that makes Chris smile, too, and he stares at the photo for a good while. “Does she still call you brother?” he asks curiously, finally looking away from the photo and at Leon. “I mean, since we’re…” In a relationship? Having regular sex? Practically friggin’ married? He doesn’t know how to end the question so he lets it trail off.

“Sometimes,” Leon laughs. It’s a soft sound, more a huff than actual raucous laughter, but it still makes Chris strangely happy. “Although she did say it feels kind of weird now. Or, did feel… then.” He stumbles over the words, not really knowing how to refer to the situation, all things considered.

The mood turns from comfortable and nice to something a lot more melancholy, and immediately Chris feels the need to fix it in any way he can. “Uhm. Can we look at the next one?” he asks, gesturing at the pile. He hands the photo in his hands back to Leon, who casually twists to pin it onto the wall, probably exactly where it used to be before all this. 

The next picture is only Chris. He’s on the couch, his face pushed into the colorful throw pillows, arm hanging off the side and knuckles brushing the floor. He’s only wearing sweatpants, and looks like he’d just collapsed there and fallen asleep immediately. “This is kind of embarrassing,” he mutters. 

“No,” Leon argues immediately. “It’s _adorable_ , okay. And it’s going back on the wall.” He doesn’t wait for any protests, but instead reaches towards the wall again, attaching the picture to its rightful place. As Leon reaches out it makes his shirt ride up, and Chris gets momentarily distracted by the bare skin at his waist. He doesn’t exactly know if their relationship is at a stage where he’s allowed to be staring, but he can’t really help himself.

They go through the photos one by one. Some have stories to them, some are just nice candid snapshots from their daily lives. There’s a couple with only Chris in them, and a couple with only Leon that Chris might linger a little looking at. There are a few group photos with Claire, or other friends some of whom Chris recognizes and some he doesn’t. But the majority of the pictures are of the two of them. 

“Who took all of these?” Chris asks, in a whisper, as most of the pictures seem almost too intimate to have someone else intrude on them. Not intimate in a sexual sense but in an entirely emotional one. In one they’re smiling at one another, both looking like there’s nothing they’d rather be doing, and in another Leon’s asleep with his head propped on Chris’ shoulder and Chris is holding him like he’s something precious. 

Leon shrugs a little, taking one of the photos from Chris to pin it onto the wall again. “Claire, mostly. She’s got this whole thing, taking photos when no one realizes she’s doing it. And she’s good at it, too.” He obviously doesn’t mind that they’ve been targeted too, if the soft tone of his voice is anything to go by.

The last picture in the pile is something that even Leon pauses at, making a tiny wounded sound in the back of his throat. Almost reluctantly he hands it over to Chris, eventually, and closes his eyes as he speaks. “That’s… You wanted to take a picture after the first night we spent here. We didn’t even have any furniture in yet, only a mattress to sleep on. But you said…” he clears his throat, voice still a little choked as he goes on, “that we should always remember that.”

The irony of the words isn’t lost on Chris and he feels a stab in his heart at that. In the picture they’re obviously in bed, cheeks flushed and smiling contently, and Leon’s got the worst case of bedhead ever. Leon’s hand is resting on Chris’ chest, above his heart, palm pressed to the skin, and he’s snuggled so close to Chris’ side that they’re about as close as they possibly could be.

It’s obviously Chris who took the photo, with the way a part of his arm is visible along the edge of the image. It’s a little blurry, too, not exactly showcasing any fantastic photography skills. Yet it’s so full of sheer _emotion_ that it’s hands down Chris’ favorite picture of them all. They look so happy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The words aren’t adequate at all, not enough in any way imaginable. Yet he feels like he has to say it, has to keep repeating it, until… he doesn’t really know. Until things are better again. 

“Hey,” Leon shifts closer, closes his hand over Chris’ that’s still holding the photograph. The touch is gentle but firm, grounding. “It’s not your fault.”

Chris doesn’t know what to say to that so he keeps quiet, but he offers a faint smile as Leon takes the photo from him to put it back into its place on the wall, right in the middle. Chris follows the movement with his gaze, takes in the entire display of pictures and…

_‘Look, we’re not going to be taking pictures of every second of our lives,’ Leon laughs as he shifts closer to Chris, pressing against him until it’s just skin on skin all the way from their shoulders to their toes. He slips a hand to Chris’ chest, splays his fingers wide, and presses a soft kiss in the crook of Chris’ jaw. ‘If you want to take a pic every time we have sex, we’re going to run out of wall-space.’_

_Chris grins, and reaches out anyway despite of the protests, nudging Leon a little. ‘Don’t be such a spoil sport. Smile at the camera, okay. I promise I won’t make this a habit but this? This is something we should always remember.’ He hugs Leon closer with the arm that he has around him, enjoying the way the man willingly all but melts against him._

_Leon smiles at him, really smiles, and obediently turns to look straight at the camera, and–_

“Chris?” Leon’s voice makes Chris snap back to reality, and when their gazes meet Leon looks worried. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, throat dry and voice cracking. “I’m fine. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” He’s not sure if Leon will drop the topic, not with how Chris is so visibly shaken, but maybe it’s his lucky day. With effort he swallows, closes his eyes, and tries to make sense of the mess in his mind. He tries not to be too hopeful but…

That, right there, was the first thing he remembers from the past fifteen years of his life.

*

It’s dark in the apartment when Chris finally shuffles out of the shower and into bed. For a good while he stays there, staring at the ceiling and trying to relax enough to sleep. Even though he’s pleasantly tired and relaxed from the long hot shower, his mind keeps going back to Leon, who’s probably fast asleep in the guest room, and he _yearns_ with all of him to have Leon closer.

He can’t even pretend he understands the emotions going through him. Technically he doesn’t even remember Leon, except for that one small flash of memory that surfaced earlier, and he’s not even sure if it was a legit memory or if it was something his mind made up. But still… even if his conscious mind doesn’t remember, it’s like he still _knows_ Leon on some primal level. He’s drawn to him, feels grounded close to him, and he doesn’t really know what to make of it all.

After restlessly fidgeting for what feels like ages, Chris rolls out of bed with a dejected sigh. He pads through the apartment, the floor cold against his bare feet, not bothering to switch on the lights even though he can barely see the outlines of the furniture in the darkness. 

Silently he stops in the doorway of the guest bedroom. Leon had left the door open, as well as the curtains, and there’s enough light from the full moon to illuminate the room in its cool glow. It only takes a second or two before Leon shifts and sits upright, noticing Chris in the doorway. “Chris?” he doesn’t sound like he’s been sleeping at all. 

“Would you…” Chris begins but then hesitates, unsure of what he’s even doing here. All he knows is that there’s this strange itch beneath his skin that he can’t even begin to touch, and he need something to calm him down. And obviously his subconscious mind thinks that something is Leon. So despite his hesitation, Chris eventually ventures on. “I couldn’t sleep and I thought…”

He trails off, unable to go on, and the silence drags on between them for a while. Eventually it’s Leon who breaks it with a soft “You thought?”

“Come to bed with me?” Chris blurts out, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he manages to think twice. Only then he realizes how he sounds, and he hurries to add “To sleep. Next to me. Nothing more.”

There’s a myriad of emotions that flash over Leon’s face, until he settles for one that’s equal parts confusion and what seems devastatingly much like heartbreak. “I… Chris,” his voice cracks as he speaks, and he needs to pause for a minute. He swallows hard, and when he manages to go on it’s in an apologetic tone. “I don’t think I can.”

Chris makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, and shifts in his place, restless and aimless. It’s bad enough not to even know what he’s feeling, but trying to vocalize it too… “If it’s about me not wanting you there, you’re wrong, because I do… I know what I feel, and I–”

Gently Leon interrupts him. “No, Chris,” he smiles, even if it’s sad more than anything. “You can’t know that. You’re just confused, and–” He cuts the statement off abruptly, visibly frustrated as well, and closes his eyes to find some semblance of control. “Chris, just. Please let’s not fight about this.”

“Fine.” Chris snaps, unable to hold back the spike of anger that slashes through him. It feels like Leon isn’t even listening to him, like he isn’t trusting him, but at the same time the rational part of his mind sees the logic in this, too.

Chris turns on his heels and marches back to bed. He barely manages to sleep, only getting a few moments filled with restless dreams. In the morning Leon looks equally as tired as Chris feels.

*

The tiredness doesn’t dissipate, leaving them both more than a little on edge. It all just adds to the frustration, since Chris thinks they should both be happy about the progress they’re making but somehow the lack of sleep coats everything in sheer irritation. They almost avoid each other throughout the morning, and whenever they do speak it’s stilted, it’s awkward and clipped.

Claire notices the change in the mood the second she walks in. She’s frowning at them already before she’s really managed to settle on the couch, in what seems to be her favorite spot. Obviously not in the mood to deal with any silent awkwardness, she arches an eyebrow, eyeing the setting critically. “Okay, talk.”

“What do you think you are?” Leon huffs, rolling his eyes as he slumps to sit in the armchair. Frustrated, he runs his fingers through his hair, and as it messes up his hair that somehow even underlines the tired lines on his face, the dark bags under his eyes. “Some kind of a marriage counselor?”

“Wouldn’t you just _hate_ that,” Chris snaps from where he’s standing, at the other end of the couch, arms crossed across his chest. He knows it’s a low blow already as he says it, but he’s still restless and tired, hurt from how he doesn’t know how to make things right. “You’re so determined to sweep everything under a rug and pretend like we’re nothing to each other!”

Leon sneers, anger flashing in his eyes, along with hurt and surprise, and a whole bunch of other emotions. “I _am_ nothing to you! You don’t even remember me! So don’t try to tell me there’s a healthy relationship hiding anywhere in there!” The downturn of his mouth sets even deeper, clearly indicating how he feels about the entire topic in general.

Logically Chris knows that they’re all hurting enough even without making things worse by arguing. But the primal reaction is hurt upon more hurt, and he can’t help his temper. “Screw you!” he says, raising his voice. “I’m _trying_ here. At least I’m making a conscious effort. But whenever I try to get closer to you, you push me away!”

Leon seems to piece something together then, his eyes widening in surprise as he hazards a guess as to what the problem is. “Is this about the bed sharing?” he asks, disbelieving. “It’s not that easy!”

“Why isn’t it?” Chris demands stubbornly. It’s easier to latch on to something specific to argue about, instead of desperately struggling against the entire universe of confusing thoughts and emotions. “Seriously, I thought you’d be ecstatic about it. You’re the one who remembers a decade of intimacy that I’ve forgotten.” He gestures vaguely between them, steadfastly ignoring the way Claire is trying to glare them both into silence.

“Yeah _that is_ the problem!” Leon snaps, jumping up from his seat, directing an enraged glare at Chris. “It’s not like I can pretend like everything’s normal! I can’t act like nothing’s changed, when _everything_ has changed!”

Chris scowls, muscles flexing as he tries to hold himself back, as he kind of feels like punching the nearest wall out of sheer frustration. Instead he curls his hands into fists, so tight his knuckles turn white. “You _could_. Maybe that’s exactly what we need, to get back to normal, and maybe that’ll help my memory to come back when I don’t need to just keep guessing how we were together. If you care about me, at all, you–”

The expression on Leon’s face makes Chris stop abruptly. 

Leon’s entire body is coiled so tense he seems to be nearly vibrating with it. “Screw you, Chris,” he hisses. “I love you. I would fucking die for you, and I can’t stand the thought that I’m just a random stranger to you. I feel like I’m drowning and normally _you_ are the lifeline that pulls me through, because you get me, like no one else. But what the hell do I have now? I can’t talk to you because you don’t _know_ me. Not now…”

With a strangled little sound Claire is suddenly up from her seat, where she’s sat silently, watching the exchange. She throws her arms around Leon, clinging on to him until he slowly wraps his arms around her in return, even tilts his head to bury his face in her hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, so low Chris almost doesn’t hear it, as it’s meant only for Claire. “I didn’t mean that you–”

“It’s okay,” Claire says, voice a little muffled by Leon’s shoulder. “I know what you mean. I’m not offended.”

That seems to somewhat diffuse the tension in the moment, the anger fading from them both until there’s just exhaustion left behind. Chris closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, before clearing his throat to speak. “Jesus. I could really use a drink right about now.” He rubs his palm over his face, sighing in deep. “Why the hell don’t we have like, a fully stocked liquor cabinet just for moments like this.”

There’s a pause, long enough to make Chris look up to where Claire has detached from Leon but is still standing close enough to put a hand on his arm, as if in support. The anger is gone from Leon’s eyes as he looks up at Chris, voice soft as he replies. “…because of me.”

“Leon…” Claire says, but Leon gives her a faint smile and a headshake and she seems to drop whatever she’s about to say. 

Chris is sure all the questions are clearly visible on his face, so he doesn’t voice any of them. And as expected, Leon goes on soon enough. “You might’ve lost the past fifteen years of this crap, but you remember where it started,” he begins with a grimace. “Imagine… that’s what our lives turned out to be. Just a nightmare after another. And I’m not making excuses, but,” he sighs and shrugs a little, “at one point the only way I could get any sleep was to first down a bottle of vodka.”

That makes a frightening amount of sense and Chris nods slowly, already trying to come up with a half-decent apology for how he’s been talking about the topic so flippantly. He wouldn’t have, had he known this, but…

Leon gives him a crooked smile, one that seems actually half-amused. “I haven’t had a drink in years, now. And _you_ ,” he smiles again, and this time it’s endlessly fond, “thought it’d be better not to have any… temptations around.” He shrugs. 

“You staged an entire intervention,” Claire adds, reaching out to grab Chris’ wrist to give it a small squeeze in silent support. “Granted, it was just you and me, but as far as grand gestures go it was good enough.”

Feeling like shit, about everything, Chris rubs his eyes, hoping he can somehow magically get rid of the bone-deep tiredness that way. “Shit I’m sorry. I don’t…” _remember any of that_ , he doesn’t say out loud but they all know that’s how the sentence would end. 

“It’s not your fault, Chris,” Leon says softly, for what feels like the hundredth time in these past few days. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Doesn’t stop me from feeling like crap, though,” Chris says, unable to hold back a grimace. “There’s so much I _should_ know about you, and I’ve got next to nothing. It’s …not fair how you know everything about me and I have to learn everything from the beginning.”

That makes Leon look thoroughly guilty, which definitely wasn’t Chris’ intention. Before anyone manages to interrupt him, he hurries to explain further. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it’s unfair to _you_. Here I am, constantly making you feel like shit with the way I say stupid shit like this, and I don’t want that.” He pauses, searches for words. “And I’m sorry for pushing. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and if you need us to take baby steps then we will.”

“Seriously,” Claire sighs “no one knows how to handle any of this, okay. We’re all just flailing in the dark, hoping for the best.” She gives what is her best attempt at a bright smile, trying to lift their spirits like she always does. “But I have faith in you. I have faith in all of us! We can make this work. That’s what family’s for.”

It does make them feel better. Maybe they can make this work, in the end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here we go~

Claire leaves them in the evening, when things have calmed down and they’ve gotten back to the tentative normalcy that they’d reached before the argument. Not for the first time Chris counts himself extremely lucky that he has such a supportive sister, and that she also happens to be Leon’s best friend. No one else could’ve steadier them both like she does.

They don’t talk about the sleeping arrangements, as the topic feels all too raw. Leon just awkwardly wishes Chris good night and disappears into the guest bedroom, this time closing the door after himself too, unlike the night before. It feels somehow final, to Chris, and he gives in and slips into bed even though he doesn’t really feel like sleep is an option.

For ages Chris keeps going through the argument in his mind. Somehow he’s unable to let it go, even though they have already reached a careful truce about it, and technically it’s been settled. Yet there’s still some residual anger lingering in his gut. Some of it is directed at Leon, even though he knows it’s unfounded, as he’s so utterly frustrated by how they clearly mean so much to each other but can’t do anything about it.

Most of the anger is directed at himself, though. How does he always manage to say the wrong thing, ending up hurting Leon further? It’s the last thing he wants. And Claire, too, she’s clearly suffering from this, worrying for Chris and Leon both separately and together, in all the possible ways. It sends a fresh wave of guilt through Chris, and he squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to get rid of that particular line of thought. It doesn’t exactly work though, not until–

 _‘I can’t,’ Claire is crying against his shoulder, clutching onto his shirt while her tears soak through the fabric. Chris can only hold her, unable to do anything concrete to chase her demons away for her. He can listen, he can be there, but that’s the extent of it and he wants to_ break things _because of that. Helplessly he strokes his sister’s hair, talks to her in a low voice. They both know grief and loss, maybe that’s enough for now._

The sudden memory leaves Chris’ throat dry and his heart hammering in his chest, a fresh pang of pain shooting through him. He’s always felt inadequate when he’s failed at sheltering Claire from the world, like he’s supposed to, like is his responsibility as the older sibling.

And then…

_‘You don’t always need to be the one to save me,’ Claire smiles, raising the shot glass to clink it against the one Chris is holding. ‘I know it’s like your sacred big brother duty but honestly, I’m old enough already, let me make my own mistakes sometimes.’ She smiles. ‘Besides we’re here to talk about you and your heartbreak.’_

Chris remembers that, the evening of getting spectacularly drunk together, and he knows why and he has no time to dwell on it before yet another flash of a memory hits him like a train, making him cry out loud.

_‘It’s Leon,’ Claire chokes out through her tears, face red from all the crying and voice hoarse in a way that scares Chris more than anything. ‘He’s hurt, it’s bad. We don’t know what’ll happen.’ And Chris feels like his heart drops to the pit of his stomach, heavy as lead._

The last memory cuts off as abruptly as the ones before, followed by explosions, zombies, gigantic monsters, the never ending gunfire and screams that have haunted his nightmares for longer than he’d care to remember at all. Fucking hell, Chris thinks, of course the bad memories come back in bulk, just his luck.

Even when the last of it fades, the experience leaves Chris shaking. He stays there entirely unmoving, eyes open as he stares blindly at the ceiling. He knows it’s all gone, it’s alright, they’re all alive and breathing, there’s nothing to worry about right now. Yet the panic bleeds off his limbs agonizingly slow, and he can’t do anything but stay completely still.

Only when there’s a soft knock at the doorway he shifts his head enough to take a look. Leon is standing there, kind of awkwardly, hand still in the air from where he’d knocked on the doorframe. He’s biting his lip, clearly hesitant, and he’s wrapped himself in the thin blanket he’d had in his bed. Chris has no idea if Leon heard him panic, or otherwise sensed it, or if he’s here for some completely unrelated reason. He doesn’t care, though. He’s just immensely relieved that he doesn’t have to be alone.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Leon says softly, shuffling closer to the bed. He sits down on the very edge of it, movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s both giving Chris time to protest and for himself to get used to the idea. “So if the offer is still on?” He nods slightly towards the empty space on the mattress beside Chris.

“Yeah,” Chris says, practically only breathes out, his voice still shaky. “Please.”

Wordlessly Leon settles down next to him. The bed is so big there’s plenty of room for them both, and even when they’re both settled, their shoulders are barely touching. But Leon’s presence alone makes Chris’ heartbeat steady, the tension seeping off him and finally allowing him to relax properly. And while Chris doesn’t know what made Leon change his mind he’s grateful, he’s not going to question it.

Chris really doesn’t want to talk about what made him so shaken, and thankfully Leon doesn’t ask. He obviously knows better than to push, knows to wait until Chris is ready to share. So instead of words, Leon simply reaches out and places a hand on Chris’ wrist, the warm touch, as small as it is, speaking volumes of how he’s there. In more than the literal sense of the word.

The silence around them is comfortable. Almost nice. Sometime in the night they both drift off to much needed sleep.

*

Chris wakes up warm, almost too much so, and his first instinct is to kick off the covers. Something’s stopping him, though, and he struggles for a bit until he realizes that the something stopping him is another person, lying half on top of him. Immediately Chris stills, hoping he hasn’t ruined the moment. Leon has one arm wrapped around Chris’ waist, his head pillowed on Chris’ chest, and judging by the slow and even breaths he’s taking he seems to be fast asleep.

It’s surprisingly easy for Chris to just relax again. He can’t see Leon’s face from the angle but he watches him anyway, the way he’s so comfortably settled against him, the way his breathing moves him just slightly. It feels so domestic, so intimate and _so right_ that there’s a sudden lump in Chris’ throat he has to swallow around.

Slowly, carefully, he brings his hand up and brushes his fingers over Leon’s shoulder and back to his neck, tracing the collar of his t-shirt. He holds his breath as he toys with a strand of hair, all the while expecting Leon to wake up any second and jump away like he’s been burned. He knows he shouldn’t take advantage of the moment, not even in a soft way like this, but he can’t help himself. It’s all so overwhelming, and he touches the side of Leon’s neck like it’s a religious experience.

Eventually he settles for slowly stroking Leon’s back, smoothing gentle circles along his spine, and he likes to imagine that Leon relaxes even further against him. There’s a moment when Chris feels overwhelmed, the turmoil inside of him like a raging storm. But just having Leon there against him manages to ground him, pull him back to reality and get his breathing under control.

Just like that, Chris falls back asleep.

*

Chris knows that he should try to get back to at least some semblance of normalcy in his life, so the next day he volunteers to go grocery shopping. Even with the memory troubles he’s not an invalid, and he’s perfectly capable of handling something so mundane. Granted, it makes him a little nervous to think he might bump into someone he’s supposed to know but doesn’t remember, but then again, there are no guarantees that the situation will ever change so maybe it’s best to get it over with.

In the end, he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or sort of disappointed when he doesn’t meet anyone who’d even hint at knowing him. The only people to greet him are the employees in the stores he visits, and that’s it. Still he expects ... _something_ to happen all the way until the door closes behind him again and he’s standing in the apartment that’s become familiar to him in these past two weeks.

“You were quick,” Leon comments as Chris enters the kitchen, finding him fiddling with the coffee maker. Even if they’d both gotten a few hours of good sleep in the early morning, it didn’t completely make up for the several nights of restlessness and lack of sleep. Chris knows that Leon feels as tired as he does, and maybe copious amounts of coffee is a good temporary solution.

Chris begins to dig through the bags, placing everything on the table so that Leon can put them away into their correct places. He figured that’d be the easiest, for them both, since he could as well learn where everything was supposed to go. “It’s not like it was rocket science. It was just grocery shopping,” he points out, and can’t really help the way his gaze drifts down from Leon’s back, from his shoulders to his waist and to the curve of his ass. He sort of wants to follow the same trail with his hands.

Obviously Leon doesn’t notice the staring, too focused on stashing the coffee packets and the tea – mostly for Claire – away in one of the cupboards. He gives a small shrug as response, before turning halfway. “Did you remember the coffee filters?” Without a word, Chris digs the pack of filters out of the bag and throws it at Leon, who catches it with ease, apparently without any real effort. “And the milk?” Leon asks further, and this time flashes Chris a quick grin. “You don’t need to throw the carton at me.”

Laughing, Chris waves the milk carton up in the air a little, before storing it into the fridge. “Don’t you trust me enough to follow a simple list?” he asks, not exactly serious, even with the way he’s pretending to be hurt by the doubts.

Leon just shrugs a little, pulls a face, before finally putting the filter papers into the cupboard. “Not one of your strongest suits.”

The mood is easy enough that Chris doesn’t want to jeopardize it by accidentally saying something insensitive or stupid. So he just fishes the last item out of his grocery bag to throw it to Leon. “Stop bullying me. I got you chocolate. Although I don’t know how you can eat that crap, I bet you’re the only person in the world who actually likes chili chocolate...”

Slowly Chris trails off, as he notices the way Leon is just staring at the chocolate bar, entirely stunned. It’s silent until Leon finally looks up at Chris, eyes wide, something haunted in his eyes. “Why did you get me this?” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard before he can go on. “I mean, why _exactly this_?”

“You... seemed tired? I thought it’d cheer you up?” Chris says slowly, and although it’s not meant to be a question it somehow comes out that way. It’s obviously not the answer Leon’s looking for, as he just keeps staring at Chris, until Chris shrugs a little. “...because it’s your favorite.” For some reason that’s not a question, since he just _knows_.

The expression on Leon’s face is unreadable as he continues to stare at Chris for even longer. Eventually he seems to finally shake himself out of it, even if the strange look in his eyes doesn’t go anywhere. “I never told you that. I mean. After...” He makes a vague hand gesture, but it’s enough for them both to understand what he’s referring to.

That makes Chris’ mind come to a screeching halt. “Oh.” He’d just grabbed the chocolate as he’d walked past it, thinking that it’d be nice to bring Leon something he enjoyed. And he hadn’t wasted a single thought on _how_ he knew that, on where the information came from.

They don’t talk about it any further, neither of them sure how to react, or what it even means. Still there’s something dangerously close to hope in the air.

*

After the first night they slept next to each other, things shift. It’s like simultaneously _nothing_ changes and _everything_ changes.

During the following days there are soft smiles that Chris has no other words for than encouraging and fond directed at him. Leon stops shying away from contact; he allows their shoulders to bump, sits next to Chris on the couch, playfully slaps the back of his head when he’s saying something dumb, ghosts fingers over Chris’ wrist, places a comforting hand on his shoulder...

It’s all innocent enough, casual enough, that it doesn’t push things further. Yet it seems to be a conscious choice to show that he’s there, ready to put himself on the line, and willing to make this work. Chris has no idea if this is how they used to be, how they acted around one another before, but he thinks it is. He hopes it is. Because it’s all so very nice.

They’re doing the dishes, of all things, collecting the plates and glasses from their dinner as they joke about something stupid. One joke leads to another, and it’s so _easy_ and comforting, that neither of them wants to be the one to end the moment. So they don’t stop, but the jokes get progressively _stupider_. At least Chris still remembers a ton of bad puns and cringe worthy jokes. And he’s not afraid to use the entire arsenal.

Then Leon’s laughing, honest-to-god really laughing and not just one of those hollow, sad little huffs and chuckles he’s defaulted to lately. The smile reaches all the way to his eyes, and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing Chris has ever seen…

Drawn in, Chris leans closer, so slow that it gives Leon time to realize what he’s doing. At first Leon goes completely rigid, his chest stilling as he pauses mid-breath to hold it. But as Chris closes in, he doesn’t turn away, instead stands his ground and allows Chris to kiss him. It’s slow, tentative and mostly chaste, but it feels _so right_ that it settles something inside Chris.

Leon is sort of passive, but not unresponsive. He doesn’t take initiative, doesn’t push and doesn’t demand. But he does reciprocate. He kisses back. And it’s the softest thing in the world.

Eventually Chris pulls back, just enough to be able to look at Leon properly. The silence stretches between them for a while, and surprisingly it’s not heavy with awkwardness or regret. It just is. Until Leon breaks it, his voice nearly a whisper. “If that was out of some …obligation or pity or–”

“No,” Chris cuts in, firm and even a little too loud in the silence that surrounds them. His palm finds its way to Leon’s jaw, thumb brushing over Leon’s lower lip and to his cheek, and he tries to show everything he has no words for in the simple touch. “I just wanted to,” he says, at length. “Really, really wanted to.”

Leon smiles, honest and open and private, and the relief is written clear as day on his face. “Good.”

It’s like a dam breaking then. Leon practically throws his arms around Chris’ neck, cards his fingers into Chris’ hair, and kisses him like his life depends on it. Shamelessly he nips on Chris’ lip with his teeth, licks into his mouth, and presses against him, closer than they’ve ever been after all of this started. And it’s not like Chris isn’t a willing participant in all of it.

Every kiss is a little filthier than the one before, leaving them both out of breath by the time they finally pull apart. Leon’s lips are reddened, a little swollen, but he’s smiling like it’s all he knows. “I really, really wanted to, too,” he confesses in a whisper, their noses bumping together as their faces are so close. “I’ve missed you.”

_‘I missed you so much,’ Leon breathes into Chris’ mouth, the last word swallowed by the hungry kiss that follows. His hands are gripping Chris’ shoulders so tight it’s going to bruise, his fingernails leaving crescent marks behind. It’s desperate and rough, but it’s what they both need._

_It’s what reminds them that they survived. Once again. Even if barely._

_Chris doesn’t even reply, but instead snaps his hips forward, buries himself as deep inside of Leon as he possibly can, urged on by the legs wrapped around his hips. There’s time for softness later, there’s time for whispered words and gently touches, time for reassurance and just holding each other close._

_But this is all about feeling alive._

The memory hits Chris so hard and fast he doesn’t have time to react to it. Just like the ones before, it leaves him a little shaken, and before he can second guess himself, he leans in and kisses Leon once more. It’s a lot slower and gentler than the ones before it, more emotional than needy, and Leon seems to realize that’s what Chris needs right now as he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand anything more and just melts into it.

“We can make it, okay,” Chris murmurs as he finally pulls back, brushing his lips over the soft skin under Leon’s ear, down his neck. “We can make it, I promise.” Slowly he slips his arms around Leon and hugs him close, holds him against himself as they both soak in the closeness. He can pinpoint the moment when Leon relaxes entirely against him, when the words sink in and the ever present tension melts away.

“I trust you.”

*

After things have settled to a routine Claire doesn’t come over so often anymore. She still demands daily updates, calls or texts several times a day, and in general tries to make sure everything’s going as smoothly as possible. But she also tries to give Chris space, give _them_ space, to get things back on track.

When she catches Chris alone, one evening, she sits down next to him immediately. “How are you holding up?” she asks, looking him straight in the eye in that way of hers that clearly says _lie to me about this and I’ll behead you_. There’s something soft behind the determination, though, laced with honest worry, and Chris doesn’t even want to dodge the question.

“I’m okay,” he smiles, even means it, and the level of calm in him surprises even himself. “It’s… it’s been kind of wild, re-learning so much.” He pauses for a second, but then decides that what the hell, he could as well get it all out. “I remember some things now. Bits and pieces... There’s still gigantic chunks missing but I guess something is better than nothing.”

Claire immediately perks up, absolutely delighted. “That’s good!” she says and grins, “It’s definitely the right direction! Maybe you’ll get all of it back, eventually.” She sounds so hopeful that Chris doesn’t have the heart to argue, even for the sake of arguing. Besides, he wants to believe it himself, too. After a short pause Claire goes on, curious. “How’s Leon taking everything?”

“He’s been great,” Chris damn near sighs. He leans forward, elbows on his thighs, and for a moment he allows himself to be lost in thought, searching for words. “We’re building something here.” He twists his fingers, suddenly a little nervous. “I think we’re on our way back? To how it was, I mean.”

Slowly Claire nods, seeming to take as much care to choose his words as Chris does. “He cares about you, a lot. And don’t get me wrong, I’ve been _so worried_ about you, you can’t even imagine, you’re my brother and you know I’d do anything for you but... He’s been through a lot, and I don’t want him to get his heart broken. He deserves better.”

“I know,” Chris says, earnestly, a little desperately. “And I don’t want to fuck this up but... You know, I don’t remember a lot of things, what he likes and what we used to do and all, but...” He growls in frustration, closing his eyes for a second as words seem to fail him so bad. “I don’t know, I’m just constantly drawn to him. Ever since I woke up in the hospital.”

“Well,” Claire smirks, “you two _have_ been unbearably sappy for ages, so it stands to logic that it’d take more than a little amnesia to make that go away. Spare me the details, I didn’t want to know then and I don’t want to know now,” she winks, her grin turning lewd.

“You can’t seriously tell me I have to keep all the details to myself,” Chris laughs, reaching out to push her shoulder a little. “I mean, c’mon, have you _seen_ him!? I’ve got to have some bragging rights, otherwise the world just isn’t fair at all. How did I ever even land that?”

“Beats me,” she laughs, “Your luck he has terrible taste in men.”

Chris huffs. “Screw you.”

“You know you love me.” Claire smiles sweetly, entirely unbothered. She turns more serious then, arching a questioning eyebrow as she looks at him. “Have you told him you’re remembering things?” Chris shakes his head in response, and immediately Claire asks “Why not?”

For a second Chris hesitates, unsure of how to put it in words. “I… I just don’t want to get his hopes up and then disappoint him. I will tell him, just, give me a few days okay. To see if it really is getting better.” He desperately wants it to get better, wants his memories to return and things to go back to how they were. Yet even if he doesn’t gain any more memories than what he already got, he knows what he feels. And he thinks that might be enough.

Claire doesn’t argue, but instead offers him a smile. “Sure.”

*

The following days, little memories keep returning at the most random moments. Chris suddenly stands in front of the mirror brushing his teeth as he remembers the brand of shampoo he changed to a few months back. He’s kicking off his shoes and remembers the leather jacket they got for Claire for her thirtieth birthday. He remembers how he didn’t want to celebrate his 40th birthday and they ran away for a long weekend, how he got his damn wisdom teeth out and when their entire kitchen flooded from a burst pipe. He remembers people, too. He remembers colleagues and friends, ones he’s lost and ones he still has.

Everything is jumbled, though, and while he might remember how he met someone, there sometimes aren’t any more memories attached to the person yet. Sometimes he remembers a person but has no idea how they entered his life to begin with, or if they’re still in it. It’s progress, but it’s a frustrating array of memories and flashes that appear randomly, leaving him trying to put the patchwork quilt back together in some kind of a coherent manner.

It’s not all pleasant memories, obviously. There are more than a few that leave him shaking. Some are memories from missions he’s gone on, some more dramatic than others. And although a part of him thinks those memories could’ve very well stayed away, another knows that there’s no way in life to only get the good things without any of the bad. Besides, for better or for worse, those experiences all helped shape who he is, so there’s certain importance to them.

Each returning memory might throw him off, but in the end he feels more whole for it.

One new constant is the kissing. It’s like they’re inching back towards what they once had, and they’ve taken another step with that. Sometimes the kisses are only quick, chaste pecks, given as if an afterthought, as greeting and as goodbye, as good morning and good night. Some of them are deeper, hungrier, stolen moments within their current routines. It never gets beyond that, though, neither of them quite ready to disrupt the careful balance they’ve managed to build.

They both know it can’t stay static forever. Things will change, latest when they’re both thrown back into active missions again, and the day for that keeps coming closer and closer. It feels like it looms just around the corner, even if neither of them has any concrete dates yet. The thought of that is almost like a timer, ticking away a moment after another.

Which is why the next time Chris has Leon pressed against the kitchen counter, and one kiss keeps following another, his self control reaches its breaking point. He has one hand in Leon’s hair, carded through the strands, and he uses the free one to grab Leon’s hand so he can lace their fingers together. “Can I take you to bed?” he asks, uncharacteristically unsure and hesitant. Not because he doesn’t want to. Not because he thinks it’s wrong. But he doesn’t want to screw this up, doesn’t want to lose whatever they’ve already managed to build together.

Leon looks torn. Like he’d want to run away and never let go, both at once. Hesitation only flickers in his eyes for a moment, though, before he seems to settle whatever battle he’s having with himself inwardly and instead meets Chris’ eyes straight. “Are you sure?”

“I might not remember everything we went through,” Chris says, and cards his fingers through Leon’s hair, marveling in the softness of it. It’s like he can’t stop touching it. “But I know what I feel _now_. And trust me, I’ve never wanted _anyone_ this badly.” He raises the hand he’s holding, and presses a kiss on Leon’s knuckles, smirking at him. “And not only because you’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

“At least you’re still you,” Leon grins, and finally it’s not hesitant and sad, but actually amused. “You used to make me so embarrassed with the things you say.” He says it easily, like he doesn’t mind filling in the blanks for Chris, holding their memories close for the both of them, for as much as it’s needed.

Now Chris arches an eyebrow at that. “Used to?” He’s already maneuvering them towards the bedroom, though, walking backwards and pulling Leon along with him, still holding his hand. He’s kind of giddy, enough to feel like a teenager again, a spring to his steps.

“Yeah, well, a guy can only get called gorgeous a certain amount of times before he’ll believe it, too. The embarrassment kind of wears off.” Leon laughs, and follows willingly, all the way to the bed, where he lets go of Chris’ hand. Greedily he pushes his hands underneath Chris’ shirt, runs his palms over the abs, up the chest, clearly enjoying getting to touch it all. Soon he urges Chris to lift his arms, so he can slip the shirt right off him.

“I just want to lick you all over,” Leon breathes out, eyes raking over the exposed skin, and only then he seems to realize he’s said it out loud as there’s a faint, barely visible blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks. He doesn’t even try to take it back, though, instead angles his chin up a little, as if daring Chris to comment on it.

Instead of words Chris leans in and kisses Leon. It’s a little too eager at first, their noses bumping together and teeth clashing, but it only makes them both laugh before they fix that and go for it again. The only time they break apart is to get Leon out of his shirt, too, only to go right back to kissing. It’s familiar and kind of comforting, settles and grounds them both until the nervousness has dissipated entirely.

When they finally pull apart, Leon’s palms are resting on Chris’ chest, where his hands have been lingering for a good while already, enjoying the feel of hard muscle under warm skin. Now he just smirks, and gives Chris a firm push to send him down sprawled onto the mattress. That makes laughter erupt all the way from Chris’ chest, deep and rich. “I always knew I had good taste in men,” he says, “but I gotta say you’re way out of my league.”

He means it as a joke, but the look that flashes across Leon’s face is determined, surprisingly serious. “Fucking hell, Chris, you know that’s not true.” He shifts forward until he’s straddling Chris’ thighs, knees planted into the mattress, and traces his fingers along Chris’ abdomen. “You’re like a walking wet dream,” he begins, leaning in so he can tease Chris with a chaste press of lips that doesn’t quite ever turn into a proper kiss. “And I meant what I said. I want to get my mouth on every inch of you.”

“Fuck,” Chris groans, the mere thought of that sending heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, until he’s arching up in an attempt to gain at least some friction. “I’d love that,” he says, not even minding the way his voice cracks just a little. Instead he looks up, licking his lips as he rakes his gaze over Leon’s bare chest. “But there was something else I had in mind…”

“Oh?” Leon tilts his head, a smile lingering on his lips. He doesn’t shy away from the look, though, just leans back minutely to give the other man the chance to stare all he wants. Only after a beat he speaks up again. “Want me to ride you?” he asks, underlining the words by rocking his hips a little.

The movement makes them groan simultaneously. All coherent thought flies out of the window and Chris can only nod hastily, several times, just in case that the first one wasn’t enough. “Hell yes.”

The way Leon laughs is like music to his ears.

Memory loss or not, everything about this feels familiar: the kissing, the groping, the way Leon somehow manages to be both playful and incredibly target-orientated at the same time. It’s cheesy and it’s a dumb cliché, but Chris really feels like they’re two pieces of a puzzle slotting together just about perfectly.

When they’ve gotten rid of the last remains of their clothing, and Chris has Leon on top of him, all that warm skin only for him to touch, he can’t imagine anything better. Only then Leon’s asking _Do you wanna prep me or just watch me do it myself?_ and Chris swears his brain dies a little. He barely gets out an urgent _Let me, let me_ , but thankfully that’s all that’s needed.

In mere minutes Chris has Leon shaking apart on three fingers, sweating and cursing profusely. It’s probably the hottest thing he’s seen, and he knows it’s only going to get more intense. Leon can’t stop touching, either, running his palms along Chris’ sides, his chest, his abs, as if he needs to make sure that Chris is really there, is actually _real_.

After Chris finally pulls his hand back, Leon takes his time as he lowers himself on Chris, pauses every now and then, mouth open and quick puffs of breath falling off his lips. He keeps his eyes closed at first, but then opens them and they’re all glassy, pupils blown with need, as he takes in the sight underneath him. And he still doesn’t stop touching.

“You feel so fucking good,” Leon chokes out, circling his hips in a way that doesn’t give either of them what they want. It’s frustrating, it’s maddening, and not even nearly enough. And yet so deliciously addictive. A part of Chris wants to grab a hold of Leon’s hips and force him to go faster, but he holds back. Eventually he’s rewarded when Leon leans in, his breath wet against Chris’ ear. “So good.”

That’s the turning point. Suddenly there’s no teasing, no slow, no drawing it out. Leon lifts himself up until Chris’ cock almost slips out of him, only to practically slam back down, making them both cry out loud. At that point Chris does place his palms on Leon’s hips, grips so tight his fingers might leave bruises behind, and urges him to repeat the movement. “Fucking hell. Fuck.”

Leon laughs, breathless. “Eloquent as always, Redfield?” The words are surprisingly steady, considering how fucking _wrecked_ he is, and–

_‘Fucking shit that was good,’ Chris groans, eyes closed and head tilted back against the backrest of the couch. His entire body feels boneless and he’s not sure if he could move a single muscle even if he wanted to right now. Which he doesn’t. He’s quite content just staying right here. ‘Fucking hell, so good. Fuck.’_

_Leon is already climbing into his lap, kissing him lazily, laughing lowly into Chris’ mouth. ‘Did I just suck your brains out? Or are you always this eloquent?’ he asks, a teasing drawl to his voice. His voice that’s more hoarse than usual, and it makes Chris shiver to think he did that, he fucked Leon’s throat sore._

_Chris grins. ‘Fuck you.’ He grabs Leon’s hips, and happily notes how that’s already enough to make Leon shiver a little. It’s no secret how much he likes Chris’ hands, his big palms and thick fingers._

_‘Yes please.’_

_‘That was_ terrible. _’ Chris laughs freely._

_‘You’re just jealous that I’m actually funny,’ Leon answers, half of the words already muffled because Chris is stealing short little kisses from him, proceeding to shut him up. Not that either of them really minds the distraction. Especially since it’s already building up to something more._

The memory is so vivid, so real, like it happened yesterday instead of a decade earlier. For a second it makes Chris falter, makes him lose focus, but then Leon is leaning in to kiss him and everything aligns perfectly.

*

They’re a mess, sweaty and stained, but neither of them wants to move a single muscle as they’re tangled together on the soiled sheets. Leon is lying on his stomach, arms crossed and chin propped up on them, while Chris is on his side right next to him, an arm thrown over Leon’s waist. He shuffles even closer, places his chin on Leon’s arm to steal a quick kiss from him.

Leon shifts, hooks one leg over Chris’ to gain even more skin on skin contact. “You don’t remember it now,” he begins softly, “but you’ve been there for me whenever I needed you. For years. Already when I was just Claire’s friend and you barely knew me, and then as a friend and…” He takes a deep breath, no less sincere as he goes on. “And I’d like to repay the favor, if you’ll let me.”

Chris uses the arm he has around Leon to practically manhandle him closer, pulls him in until Leon’s resting against his chest. The fact that he’s _allowed_ to do that blows his mind all over again. He presses his lips against Leon’s temple in a soft kiss, before inhaling deeply. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says, and when Leon tries to interrupt him he quickly hurries to go on. “ _But_! I’d like that. A lot. You… ground me. Keep me centered.” Something inside of him stirs, like floodgates breaking and letting all of the emotion loose.

Carefully Chris ghosts his fingertips up Leon’s spine, brushes over his neck, runs a palm down his arm. Neither of them says anything as Chris keeps on the slow, soft caresses, even when Leon has already long ago relaxed against him and fallen asleep.

Chris stays awake. In his mind, he goes through the memories he’s gained in these few weeks, over and over again. But each time there’s something more, something he hadn’t remembered before. There are little moments with Claire, with their friends, but most importantly there’s Leon, infused and laced into _everything_. There’s a flash of Leon’s smile, his laughter, his gorgeous, clear eyes looking at Chris with so much honesty. There are fleeting touches, soft kisses, memories of them falling in bed together.

Of course there are also arguments. Yelling, cutting deep with carelessly chosen words, stubbornness and selfishness. But those are always followed by forgiveness, apologies and making up, setting things right again. And of course there wouldn’t be good without the bad, that’s just not how life works.

Chris doesn’t know what to do with himself. If the emptiness in his mind had been unsettling, all of these bits and pieces swirling in his head are more than overwhelming.

So he stays right where he is. He buries his face into Leon’s hair, focuses on his scent and his even breaths. Slowly the rising panic fades, the restlessness settles down, and he relaxes into the closeness.

Eventually he drifts off to sleep.

*

Five days later they’re sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast and suddenly Chris all but drops his coffee cup as a flash of a memory hits him entirely out of the blue. He stops mid-chew, forgetting about everything around himself, even the way Leon is staring at him from across the table questioningly, concerned.

 _They’re just drinking coffee together, nothing more spectacular than that. They’re squished onto the tiny couch in Leon’s equally tiny apartment that’s barely more than a shoebox, one that has never been actually_ home _. To either one of them._

_But suddenly there’s an incredible wave of warmth that spreads through Chris, starting from his chest until it reaches every friggin’ cell of his body, and he knows that this is it. This is the man he wants to spend his life with. He’s been thinking of them getting an apartment together – a home together – for a while now but he hasn’t known when the right time to approach the topic would be._

_Now, he decides, no time like the present. ‘You know, this sucks. I don’t want to spend time here anymore,’ Chris begins and already when he speaks he knows it’s the wrong thing to say, the absolute worst way to approach what he’s trying to do, but it’s too late to take it back. He barely has time to realize how his words don’t sound anything like they should, that they sound like pretty much the_ opposite _of what he wants, and he has no idea how he got his foot in his mouth so terribly._

_The worst part is how Leon looks gutted for just a second, before he manages to bury his hurt deeper and out of the way, and the devastation makes way to white hot anger. ‘Get out.’ He rarely raises his voice but now it’s like icy steel. ‘Get the hell out of here!’_

The memory suddenly has Chris determined, and he ignores the spilled coffee and the cup that’s dangerously close to rolling off the table altogether. Instead he reaches out to grab Leon’s hands over the table, speaking urgently. “You know, when I woke up in the hospital?” he begins, speaking so fast his words are a little jumbled together, “I didn’t remember you, not at first, but you felt… It was… Look, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew right then and right there that I wanted you. Not only because you’re hot as fuck but… because it felt _right_.”

Leon opens his mouth, only manages to get out a shocked “Don’t you…” before Chris cuts him off again. “No, Leon. I’m being honest here. I’m not going to lie to you, you know that.” He tries to put as much emphasis into the words as he possibly can, wants to make it absolutely clear that he means what he’s saying, from the bottom of his heart.

After a short pause Leon nods. “Yeah, I do.” He smiles, gives Chris’ hand a small squeeze. “You wouldn’t lie to me. I trust you.”

That alone makes relief flood through Chris and he mirrors the smile. He’s not done, though, he still has things he needs to get off his chest. “I’m trying to say that even when I didn’t remember you, I still loved you. Don’t laugh at me, I know it’s like straight from some crappy romance movie but… What can I say? That’s apparently my life now. From the first second I saw you, I’ve been pulled in but now that I’ve been getting back memories it–”

“Getting memories?” Leon asks sharply. He looks like he might break if someone as much as breathes a little too harshly towards him. “You remember?”

Slowly, Chris nods. “I remember that you actually forgot to show up for our first date,” he teases, a smile breaking free, “and you spent like three weeks apologizing for it. I remember us taking the picture the first morning here, when we just moved in.” He pauses, searches for words, goes through the mess in his mind. “I remember that when I tried to ask you to move in with me, I sucked at it so bad that you thought I was breaking up with you. You threw me out and I had to yell at you through the door to make it right.”

Leon flushes at that, embarrassed, but his eyes are getting a little watery and right then and there Chris decides not to mention any of the nightmares, any of the painful memories that have resurfaced with the good ones. He’ll talk about them, when it’s time for that. But he doesn’t want to soil an emotionally charged moment like this with them.

“I remember the first time I told you I loved you,” Chris goes on, his voice a mere whisper, even if the smile is like stuck on his lips. “Remember? In my old apartment. You were yelling at me for getting myself shot, and I was so overwhelmed by how much you cared that–”

“You shut me up by slamming me against the wall and kissing me,” Leon says with a chuckle, still fighting for composure, “and my lip split and you panicked and apologized and told me you loved me. Yeah. I remember.” There are tears glimmering in Leon’s eyes, the first of them already rolling down his cheek, and Chris panics. Leon never cries. Even when he’d learned not to bottle everything inside, learned to actually share with Chris and open up to him, he still practically never cries.

“Leon,” Chris whispers, and he’s out of his chair in a second, kneeling in front of Leon and gently pulling him into his arms, holding him close. “It’s alright. My memory isn’t perfect, it’s like Swiss cheese with tons of holes in it, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get all of it back… but I remember enough. I remember.”

There’s a distinct sob, Leon’s shoulders shuddering with the force of it. “ _Never_ do that again,” he chokes out, “I _can’t_.”

“It’s alright,” Chris repeats, voice firm and confident. “It’s alright.” He tilts his head and buries his nose into Leon’s neck, inhaling his scent in a deep breath. It’s like he’s finally home. There might still be holes in his memory, details lost in the fog of his mind, but if he’s certain of anything he’s certain of this. Certain of _them_. “We’ll be alright.”

_Chris hates parties, especially birthdays, and if it were anyone else’s birthday than Claire’s he wouldn’t have even showed up. Yet here he is, wearing a button-up shirt and a suit jacket with his jeans, as Claire had told him to wear ‘something smart’. He feels awkward even without a tie and with the few top buttons open, and is already trying to decide how soon is it socially acceptable to leave._

_He grabs a drink from the side table, takes a long sip from it and only then his attention is drawn in by quite possibly the most attractive man he has ever laid his eyes on. Chris doesn’t really recognize half of Claire’s friends, it seems, but none of them have grabbed his attention like this. So when Claire attempts to pass by Chris into the kitchen, Chris quickly grabs her elbow to stop her. ‘Hey, Claire. Who is that?’_

_Frowning a little, Claire follows his gaze until her expression melts into a bright smile. ‘Oh, that’s Leon!’_

_Chris arches an eyebrow. ‘The Leon?’_

_‘Yeah, the Leon,’ Claire laughs a little, but then tries to give him a stern look. It’s not quite enough to scare Chris away, though. He can see through his sister’s glares, and they’ve sort of stopped being intimidating a long time ago. ‘Keep your grubby mitts off him. He’s my best friend.’_

_‘Sure, sure.’ Chris doesn’t even really know what he’s saying, distracted as he’s still looking. Damnit, Leon has the nicest smile, too, how unfair. ‘Now, wanna introduce us or what?’_

_Claire rolls her eyes, but doesn’t manage to hold back the hint of a smile. ‘Sure.’_

**bonus first (second) date**

_‘Not that this isn’t nice,’ Leon hums a little, knocking his shoulder against Chris’ a little. He’s mindful of the fact that they’re both holding sodas, though, and that he still hasn’t entirely finished his hot dog either. ‘But I sort of had other things in mind when you said_ dinner date _.’_

 _Chris purses his lips, arches an eyebrow. ‘The last time I had reservations at a Michelin star restaurant, tickets to a concert, and I even dug out my suit. But_ someone _didn’t show up.’_

_That now is more than enough to make Leon flush, embarrassed as hell. ‘And you still wanted to take me out?’ he asks, disbelieving, ‘Even though I stood you up like a complete asshole?’_

_‘What can I say,’ Chris leans in, grinning as he all casually throws an arm around Leon’s shoulders. ‘I’d really like to get into your pants.’ He’s clearly joking, and they both know that there’s the beginnings of something more than an one night stand brewing between them. Of course neither of them knows if anything will come of it, but still, it’s nice to know the potential is there._

_Leon doesn’t shake the arm off, instead just tilts his head enough to capture Chris’ lips in a quick kiss. ‘Hate to break it to you, but I don’t put out on the first date.’_

_‘Too bad,’ Chris sighs, but the grin is still there, like stuck on his face with how giddy he feels._

_They end up walking around the park even after they’ve both finished their gourmet dinner, simply enjoying each other’s company. Chris might be a little old fashioned sometimes, but he insists on walking Leon back to his place after, stopping in front of the apartment complex._

_Again, Leon leans in and kisses him, a little hungrier this time, and after they pull apart he only pauses for a second before he seems to make up his mind. ‘Wanna come upstairs?’_

_The offer takes Chris by surprise, but he’s not about to turn it down, never in a million years. Yet instead of eager acceptance, what tumbles out of his traitorous mouth is a question. ‘I thought you didn’t put out on the first date?’ He’s even a little surprised with how much he doesn’t want to mess this up, how badly he doesn’t want to rush thing on the expense of building something together._

_Leon doesn’t seem to be worried, though, and somehow his easy mood rubs off on Chris and helps him relax, too. Leon steals another kiss, a short but deep one, and when it breaks he grabs Chris’ hand to lace their fingers together. ‘Well,_ technically _, this is our second date…’_


End file.
